A Gilded Frame
by Disco Inferno1
Summary: Sequel to 'Still Shot.' Batista and Orianne now find themselves in the aftermath of her decision to leave her husband and must face the consequences of that choice. Full Summary Inside. COMPLETE
1. No Lies, No Secrets

_**A Gilded Frame**_

**Summary: **Dave Batista and Orianne Thomas are finally together, believing they are free of his ex-girlfriend and her husband. They now find themselves in the aftermath of her decision to leave her husband and must face the consequences of that choice. The question is no longer about hiding their relationship but if they will make it together as they weather announcing their relationship, dealing with her impending divorce, and a surprising strike from the cruel hand of fate.

The incomparable Rae (_Queen of Kaos,_ ID: 802246) has created a banner for this fic and can be found on my myspace page (url on my profile page here) in case you're interested. A million thanks, my dear!

Also, a HUGE thanks to Clare (_WandaXmaximoff_, ID: 747588) for betaing and offering her honest opinion. Love ya, chick! There would be some really stupid mistakes in here without her.

**Rating/Warnings: **The rating system isn't all that great for this kind of story but the majority of it is PG-13 or T. However, there are certain sections rated M. I'll leave it up to the reader to decide what to do with it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way lay claim to any name or character in the WWE. This is not-for-profit fiction. The only profit received is pure entertainment. Original characters of the Thomas, Anderson, and Batista families (with the exception of Batista himself—which is a damn shame), Cara Whitfield, and Cedarius Cooper, along with other various peripheral characters, belong to Disco Inferno1, 2006-07.

**Notes:**** (1) **As a married woman, I am sensitive to such issues as affairs and want readers to know that I do not take marriage and affairs lightly. This is simply a plot I am exploring in writing. Also, I have my opinion regarding military occupation in foreign countries but this is not the place to voice that. The point of this is that I mean no disrespect to _anyone_ by this story. _**Personalities presented within are not necessarily those of the characters in real life nor are the views presented within necessarily those of the author.**_Poetic license has been taken with character personas and television canon.

**(2) **Even though the fic is based on "reality," I have not used wrestlers' real names or their families' names (which I have subsequently made up). I am highly uncomfortable doing so since it feels as if I am writing a fic, for instance, about Sean Bean instead of "Boromir."

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**_Prologue_**

There was nothing left to do but wait for the sealant to dry. She couldn't put it back together until then. After that, the restoration would be complete…almost. Orianne Thomas rose to her knees and pulled the sheet of plastic to cover the disconnected wooden sides of the picture frame and secured it over the bricks that elevated it above the frame. Standing, she glanced at her hands to see the sealant staining them. She couldn't stain or paint a thing without getting it everywhere. The deck didn't have a drop on it thanks to the numerous newspapers covering it but her fingers were less fortunate. Having known better, she picked up the bucket of paint thinner she had set out and headed down the steps to the backyard. She turned on the water spigot and began pouring the thinner over each hand. Getting the sealant off was much easier than ridding herself of the residual smell of the paint thinner. Drying off her hands, she headed back up the steps and stood looking down at the frame. She had been working on the restoration for months now without a clue as to what she was going to put in it. Only a month before finding the frame, she walked out of Sloan Anderson's life and back into Dave Batista's. If she thought her life had become chaotic when she met Dave, she had no basis for comparison of the turmoil that had come next in choosing to return to him. Restoring that intricately carved frame, from stripping the gold paint, filling in the chips and cracks, and sealing it, had been her way of restoring her life amidst the chaos. The finishing touches were all that were left, which was deciding what went in the middle. What it held inside was how it would be identified.

_**Chapter I: No Secrets, No Lies**_

The light barely filtered in through the closed blinds and Orianne, hardly cognizant of the time, was tempted to snuggle deeper underneath the covers. Stretching, she realized that Dave wasn't in the bed beside her. The woman pushed her dark hair out of her face as she sat up and noticed that it was one in the afternoon. She was known to sleep in but never that late. Still not wanting to get up, she chose to anyhow, thinking about who was waiting for her…somewhere in the house. She stumbled into the bathroom and brushed her teeth before running a comb through her hair. The smudges under her eyes were enough to tell her that there wasn't much she could do for her appearance…like that was something Dave commented on anyhow. She was a disaster last night and if he took her in then, he would hardly care today.

Orianne had shown up on Batista's doorstep hours after tossing her husband out on his ass. She had to know if there was anything left to salvage between her and Dave. Not checking the weather before catching a flight to DC, she had nothing to protect her from the rain as she sat on his doorstep, waiting for him to return home. No one had come or gone from the townhouses on either side of his and, despite freezing and being drenched, she was glad of that so she didn't have to explain herself.

Instead of asking questions, Dave had ushered her inside. He picked up her luggage and camera bags—once again, she had to thank the photography gods for gracing the world with waterproof bags—and carried them up the flight of stairs, settling the suitcase on the chest beneath the window. "It's soaked through," he said, unzipping it. She rifled through it and agreed. "My t-shirts are in the top drawer over there and there's some things of yours in the bottom drawer that you left and I didn't find until…" he trailed off and then stepped into the adjoining bathroom to quickly pick up some dirty clothes that never made it into the hamper. Noticing a pair of running shoes by the bed, he kicked them underneath.

Orianne wanted to tell him to stop it, that neither one of them were ever this neat. Yet, she couldn't find the words. They seemed to be dancing around each other, both wanting to speak but not knowing what to say given what had transpired that day. Where did they start after three months apart? After she had chosen her husband over him?

"I'll just jump in the shower," she stated, picking up her toiletry bag.

"I'll get you a towel—"

"It's okay. I know where they are," Orianne quietly replied.

Dave ran a hand over his hair and stuffed both hands in his jeans pockets. "Yeah," he said with a nod. After a moment, he turned to go but then quickly turned back around. "I'll just go start these drying," he stated and zipped up the suitcase before dragging it behind him. In the laundry, he started stuffing her clothing into the dryer but then considered the DC rain and started checking the labels before dropping them into the washing machine. He was embarrassed by going through her clothes but there something so ordinary about it, so right that it was almost scary.

What if she ran again and took this away? He finally had her back; she was his and he wasn't sharing her with anyone else. But what if Sloan came back? Would she go back to him again? He had faith in her—she had made her choice. If there was one thing he had learned the night he confessed that he loved her, she stuck by her choices. As ordinary as doing her laundry was, the fact that she was upstairs in his bathroom was surreal. He wanted to tear up there, slip in behind her, and show her how much he had missed her but he couldn't. She was too exhausted, too emotionally drained and he could see that.

Knowing he needed a shower himself, Dave peeled off his own wet clothes, adding them to the load of laundry and taking out clean ones from the dryer. As he stepped out of the guest bathroom, he could hear the shower stop and knew she would still be a bit longer. Knowing they both could use a cup of coffee, Dave set some to brew and leaned up against the counter, thinking of Orianne's every move. She had a routine after bathing and she had to be clean before she could sleep. It hardly mattered to him—he could drop and be out like a light any place, any time…before their broken affair. He could see her in his mind's eye with a towel wrapped around her head like a turban and standing naked in front of the mirror. She'd brush her teeth—so much for the coffee—and then work lotion into her skin, starting with her feet. He had to stop thinking about it or he would rush right in there.

The washing machine signaled that the load was done and Dave left the kitchen to switch the clothing over to the dryer before returning to pour both of them a cup of coffee. Ascending the steps, he heard the hair dryer stop and, as he stepped into the bedroom, the man noticed the soft curve of her breast as she dropped his Capitals shirt over her head. When she turned around, she didn't seem surprised to see him standing there and gave him a small smile as he held the coffee mug out to her.

"Thanks," Orianne whispered and took a sip.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Finally, she nodded and replied with a hoarse, "Yeah." She had three months of explaining to do, culminating in her acknowledgement that she loved him. They ended up settled on the bed, him leaning against the headboard and she against the foot of the sleigh bed. That is until she finally got to admitting her stupidity and how she finally realized what was right. The woman rushed into his arms and began crying again. He stroked her hair—god, he had missed touching her hair—and whispered calming words. She finally fell asleep laying against his chest and he was grateful that she didn't move when he rose to turn off the lights and then settle in beside her.

Orianne wasn't going to lie and say she wasn't disappointed to not find Dave in the bed beside her in the morning. Still, she knew he had to be around and started down the hall, glancing into the rooms. She had to stop and chuckle when she found his 'wrestling' room. The woman knew that he was planning on doing up one of the extra bedrooms with his wrestling memorabilia and what she jokingly called a shrine to himself. By the time they had ended their relationship, he hadn't done anything to the room, refusing to let the interior decorator get hold of it. There were shelves of figures and DVDs and posters hung on the wall. WWE T-shirts were piled up on the single bed, which sported a blanket and sheets that had his face and several other superstars on it, along with a stuffed bear with his tattoos and had on his wrestling trunks. Where was one of these when she needed something to hug? It hardly mattered now that the real thing was around here somewhere.

The rustle of newspaper alerted her to his presence and she found him, in only a pair of shorts and his hair wet. He was sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, a glass of what she assumed was a shake in one hand and his nose buried in the morning paper. She quietly slipped in and leaned across the table to pull the paper down. "Hi," she said.

"Hi, yourself," he replied with a toothy grin.

"Wha'cha been doing this morning?" she asking, sitting on the table and swinging her legs around to rest beside him.

"Went for a jog, had a shower, now I'm learning about the crime rate in DC and how they've changed security at Dulles Airport again," he stated in an arrogant, educated tone and then sniffed.

"I hope it's those new x-ray machines so security can quit feeling me up," she lightly commented and slipped a leg over his thigh, settling herself on his lap between him and the newspaper.

"I suppose I could get a job as a screener and feel you up," he casually replied.

Orianne could hold in the laugh no longer and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. "I've missed you so much," she said into the crook of his neck.

"Me, too," he replied, holding her tight, last night's tension between them finally gone.

She pulled away and pushed her hair out of her face, making a disgusted noise. "I think I'm gonna cut it. A new life, a new hairdo."

"Don't do that," he immediately replied and ran his hand through the tresses that were another inch longer since he had last touched them.

"You know I can't do anything with it," she stated, tucking a hank behind her ear. That was exactly why she wore those handkerchiefs; they were the only thing that would hold her hair back and stay in place without a ton of hairspray.

"And that miraculously changes when you cut it?"

"You've got a point," she replied and they lapsed into a silence, just staring into each other's eyes. "Dave, are you sure you want this?"

"This?" he asked. "You mean am I sure I want to be with you?" She looked away and then back at him. That wasn't exactly how she wanted to phrase it because it was too true.

"I still mean what I said to you that night. I'm not in the same circles as—" Dave's eyes narrowed to remind her that that conversation was settled—he didn't care that she was not in the same societies as Gabrielle. "Nothing's changed. I will always have problems with my leg."

"Orianne, stop it, just stop it." He fixed her with a stare that made her want to crawl under the table. "I—don't—care. We're together and that's all that matters."

She nodded and leaned in for a soft kiss. Sitting back up, she mused, "Randy's going to be pissed when he hears."

"You aren't going to believe this but I think he won't have a problem," Dave replied and then relayed how Edge had locked the two of them into the lockerroom together until they settled their differences. He also told her what Randy had said about Olivia.

"I don't know about that," she warily responded in regards to her sister.

"I think you should give him the benefit of the doubt on this one."

She gave him a suspicious cock-eyed look and then sighed. "Maybe so but I'm not going to tell Olivia. She's finally over him and I'm not reopening that wound. But this doesn't mean Randy and I are going to friends or anything."

"I wouldn't ask it," he said and cupped her cheek.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his rough hand. "Dave, what are we going to do next? What comes next?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"We have to take it day by day. I'll help you find a divorce lawyer if you want."

She slowly nodded. "But what about work? I don't know what you went through but it was pure hell to have everyone staring at me like I was a plagued harlot. Can you imagine what they'll say when they find out I left Sloan for you? First I cheat with you and then I go back to my husband and then I kick him out for you. How sordid can you get?"

"Ori, you've just got to let it go. If this is what you want, then it doesn't matter what they say."

She sighed when he used her nickname. She had missed his voice but, most of all, she missed hearing him saying her name. "Can we maybe not tell anyone this weekend? Just let it be us before the cat's out of the bag?"

Dave glanced down and then back up at her. He didn't want to hide the fact that they were together. They had spent so much time in secrecy and now they didn't have to. It didn't help that that primal man inside him wanted to tout the fact that he had won out—Orianne was now his. He wanted to stand on some big ass rock, beat his chest like a caveman, and proclaim his victory. Instead, his 'prize' was nervously holding her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting to hear his answer. "I suppose."

"You think we could maybe wait until the divorce is final…"

"Do you know how long that could take? No, no secrets, no lies, not anymore. If we had just been honest with each other in the first place we could have saved everybody a lot of heartache. We're not gonna make it if we can't be honest with each other."

Orianne shifted in his lap, his gaze was discomfiting. "I know. Why were we so stupid?" He shrugged in reply. "Okay, let me get through this weekend first. But no more secrets or lies ever. I promise to be completely honest from here on out."

"I concede," Dave replied with a chuckle and slipped his hands up her thighs and underneath the shirt. "So, if we're being honest, tell me what's on your mind? And you can't lie."

"Well," she began but lost all ability to form words as one hand closed over her breast and his fingers slipped beneath the edge of her panties at her hip. Running her hands down his chest, she leaned in and teasingly ran her tongue along his bottom lip.

"Wanna take this upstairs?"

"Uh-huh," she barely got out as his hands found her folds beneath the satin. Dave wrapped his arms beneath her and stood from the table. "Wait," she said and he paused, brow furrowed. "Is that my phone?"

He could hear the faint ringing. "Not mine."

"That's my mother calling. I have to take it."

"How do you know?"

"Because I have a special ring tone for her."

"She can wait," he said and nipped her ear.

"She knows I'm at work right now and never calls," Orianne explained but then the ringing stopped.

"Too late now," he replied and started for the stairs but the phone sounded again.

"Something's wrong. I have to take it," she insisted and he set her down. "Where did we leave my phone? It was in my canvas bag."

"By the door," he answered, trying to hold in a groan of irritation. It had better be good to interrupt them. He was this close to having what he had only dreamed of in the past several months. But then again, for Orianne's sake, he hoped it really was nothing. As she answered the phone, he slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Orianne Isabelle _Anderson_," her mother began and she instantly wondered what she had done _this_ time but then she caught onto which names Marian had used. She knew about Sloan. "Young lady, you get yourself on a plane and get to Prescott _now_ and straighten this situation out with _your husband_."

"Mom," Orianne began but she was cut off.

"I'm not asking any questions and I don't want to know. I want to see you here by tonight."

"Mom—"

"I'm not asking, I'm telling."

"Mother!" Orianne shouted into the phone. Dave didn't know how to take the anger in her voice and began gathering her hair behind her neck before massaging her shoulders. "It's over and it can't be fixed."

"You're going to have to. Are you with _him _now?"

"I'm not going to dignify that question with an answer," her daughter retorted.

"Orianne, you _are _married whether you like it or not."

She couldn't talk to her mother when she was this worked up. "Is Dad around?"

"Your father is with Sloan right now, getting him settled into the guesthouse."

Orianne managed to hold in an expletive and slipped out of Dave's grasp to start pacing. She didn't want to talk to her dad with Sloan around. "Is Orrin out?"

"He's in the barn. What does he have to do with this?"

"Just put my brother on the phone or I'll call him myself."

"Orianne, I raised you better than this," Marian lectured as she glided out of the house and towards the barn. "I can forgive you your prior indiscretion because Sloan did but this has gone too far."

Her mother suddenly stopped and Orianne could hear her father's voice. "Just put Dad on the phone."

"It's your daughter," the woman stated and passed the phone off.

"Baby girl?"

"Dad," she sighed, "what's going on? Mom called me and started preaching at me."

"Just a minute," he said and she heard some mumbling between her parents. "Sloan showed up here about thirty minutes ago, said that the two of you were separating, and asked if he could stay here for a while."

"Did he say why?" Orianne asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"No, I was hoping you could explain," he said, asking only for the information rather than judging her.

"It's a long story, Dad. It's been a long time coming. Could you do me a favor and keep Mom at bay? I don't need her lectures while we work through this."

"I'll do my best, baby girl," he softly replied, his voice making no promises, "but you know your mother."

"I don't know what to tell you," she sighed and leaned up against the wall in the hallway.

"You probably _should_ come home."

"Dad, this is not all my fault and I'm not going to chase after Sloan to settle it. It's your choice as to whether or not he can stay at the guesthouse."

"Baby, he had nowhere else to go, I'm not going to turn him out," Carter explained, wanting her to see his side of the situation.

"It's whatever you want. I have to go," she lied, tired of this conversation. "Love you."

"Love you, too, baby girl."

Orianne ended the call and tossed her phone on the couch. "Sloan went to Prescott," she angrily stated to Dave who was casually leaning up against the living room doorjamb and waiting for her to finish talking with her father. "I don't know what his agenda is but he's up to something."

Dave was too angry at Sloan's actions yesterday to defend him but he couldn't blame the man from running to the only family he knew. "Just let it go. You can't change anything from DC."

"I'm just so angry that he'd go straight to my family and turn them against me. It's not like they all hate me except for Olivia," she ranted as she continued to pace.

"Ori, let it go," he said and strode across the room to grasp her shoulders to stop her from wearing a path in the carpet. "You know what, I've got something to show you, take your mind right off of things. Get dressed."

"I was hoping that we could stay in until we left for the weekend. I didn't really want to have to explain—"

"No one we know will see us, I promise. Go on," he replied and swatted her on the butt to send her in the direction of the laundry room. He was highly disappointed that they were interrupted but he knew better than to try again. The phonecall had put a damper on their libido. He was so proud of his gym that he couldn't wait to show her and now would be a good time.

TBC…


	2. Drugs, Alcohol, or Sex

**Author's Note: **I am very much ashamed that I forgot a very important note of gratitude in my preliminary notes. A HUGE thanks to Clare (_WandaXmaximoff_, ID: 747588) for betaing and offering her honest opinion. Love ya, chick! There would be some really stupid mistakes in here without her.

_**Chapter II: Drugs, Alcohol, or Sex**_

Olivia Thomas finally pulled into the driveway after the drive back from the university. She was positive that she had aced her final—just one more year to go before she was done with her bachelor's and she would finally be off to veterinary school. The black-haired girl couldn't wait to saddle up Colossus. She could already feel the horse's powerful muscles galloping beneath her. Leaving her truck packed—everything in her dorm was crammed in the extended cab or tied down under a tarp in the back—she bounded up the steps to the verandah until she noticed lights on in the guesthouse.

Her first thought was that Orrin had "company" but then she saw him striding out of the storage house and coming her way. Olivia backpedaled and then pointed at the guesthouse. "Ori here?"

"Just Sloan. I think she kicked him out," he replied, brushing dust and hay from his shirt.

"What?"

"I haven't stopped to ask Dad what's going on but, from what I gather, Sloan suggested that they separate for a while and Ori kicked him out," Orrin explained as he pulled his work gloves off. "God knows what she did this time."

"Orrin," Olivia angrily chided. "You don't know the half of it. She's our sister and you should give her the benefit of the doubt. Stop automatically taking his side."

"And you know the truth?"

"Because no one else would listen to her, yes, I know," she bit out and stalked towards the guesthouse.

Orrin called after her and began following her, intent on stopping his younger sister, but then he paused. Of course he didn't know what had gone on between Orianne and Sloan. She wasn't exactly forthcoming with any information regarding the affair and they had hardly seen her since she told them about it. He knew his twin sister and she wasn't one to just have an affair willy-nilly. But he had been so hurt by what she had done to his brother-in-law that he never thought about her side of the story. She was his own flesh and blood and he never stopped to be just that to her.

Olivia and Orianne were so different and alike in many ways despite the eight year age difference. One of their most obvious similarities was the bitch that was unleashed underneath when pissed off. They were both mild-mannered and, while Orianne could keep her temper in check longer, it took a lot to set the fuse off. This wasn't about some little spat but out and out rage. Orrin was sure that was what he was seeing with his younger sister. When Olivia banged on the door to the guesthouse, her brother followed her but stopped at the bottom of the steps. From the glint in her eye, this was either going to be entertaining or he was going to have to rescue either Olivia or Sloan.

"What did you do?" Olivia angrily asked the second the door open. She had already opened the screen door and was waiting on him.

"Livi," Sloan began but she stepped inside and he automatically backed up.

"Don't 'Livi' me. Spit it out."

Olivia was fully on her sister's side, so he told the truth, unlike with Carter and Marian. "She's still in love with Batista and I suggested we separate. She went off the handle and kicked me out."

"Of course, you stupid fool," Olivia angrily replied. "What exactly did you think with the way you've been treating her?"

"The way _I've _been treating her? She cheated on me and—"

Olivia poked him square in the chest with her index finger. "Just back up there. You took her back. That meant you were starting over but what did you do? You made her feel guilty every damn day she was back with you. She bent over backward to prove to you that you could trust her. You wouldn't even touch her, tell her you loved her."

Orrin tried to hold in the snicker at the way Sloan was being bested by a girl that was young enough to be his daughter. He probably should make his presence known before his sister said anything that she would later regret.

"You're not listening to me," Sloan adamantly stated. "She's still in love with him and I can't trust her."

"That's because you _won't _trust her. You won't listen to her to even begin to trust her."

"Olivia, you need to stay out of something you know nothing about."

"I know everything and that's because I was only person she could talk to," the girl angrily replied, pointing a finger back at herself. "She kowtowed to that family counselor to make _you _happy while she was miserable."

"She needed to be miserable after what she did to me," Sloan retorted and then realized the childishness of the statement. Before he could take it back, his sister-in-law had started again.

"What about what you did to her? You never once asked her what made her seek out another man. You've laid the blame squarely at her feet and never once pointed the finger at yourself. She didn't mess this one up. You fucked it up on your own."

Orrin's eyes grew wide at her last comments and took the steps two at a time. "Olivia," he called on his way up. He didn't want them to think that he had been eavesdropping. "Mom's looking for you." She whipped around to glare at her brother. "She was hoping you'd help out with supper."

The woman turned back around to Sloan and shook her head. "I hope she's with him right now," she stated and Orrin grabbed her by the arm to shove her out the door. He didn't bother apologizing for his sister and he wasn't going to chastise her either. Despite Sloan's twenty-three years her senior, they were both adults and could handle this own their own…later. If their mother got wind of the confrontation, it wouldn't matter how old anyone was—there'd by hell to pay in Marian's own special way.

Sloan wasn't about to let Olivia bother him, he told himself. As long as he had known her, she had always been a little spoiled and a little immature. When the screen door slammed shut, he pushed the inside door closed and flopped down on the couch, picking up the baseball game on the television. No, he wasn't going to let his sister-in-law get to him. After a few innings, he stood up and walked the length of the living room. She knew nothing and, even if Orianne had said anything to her, it was only his wife's side. Obviously, Olivia hadn't even seen his side either.

Orianne's words still echoed in his ears. She was just as immature and spoiled if she couldn't see that he was doing his duty for his country. He would admit that he had made a promise to retire but situation after situation arose to prevent that. Orianne didn't outright object until his last assignment and even then he made his choice—his wife. But she couldn't wait until he returned. Everything would have been fine if she would have waited to hear his decision. He should have told her at Christmas when he had made up his mind.

He loved his wife, loved her more than anything, and he honestly thought he was doing right. He knew before he left on this last tour that he would eventually retire and hand the mother of his children everything on a silver platter. How did he not even know she didn't want children? Was Olivia's accusation true? Did he not listen to his own wife? But Orianne admitted herself that she hadn't protested or stood up for herself—what exactly that meant, he was still trying to determine. It didn't take away the fact that she had sex with another man. Of course he didn't ask what he had done to drive her to have an affair. He honestly thought he was being the husband that he could be when he wasn't abroad. Was he that blind? Could he have been the reason that Orianne had the affair? Was he too busy pointing the finger to not see his part in it?

Sloan finally stopped pacing and sank to the couch, dropping his head in his hands. He could have stopped this. He should have seen it coming and he should have done something about it. If he had, she wouldn't be with Dave Batista right now. Any time he thought of that man's hands on his wife, his blood began to boil. Not because he was possessive of Orianne but because he loved her and he was married to her. He had only walked out that door yesterday to prove a point. He could play her game if it made her realize the severity of her decision. What if that was the final nail in the coffin? Olivia was right—he had screwed this up beyond all belief.

Sloan suddenly rose from the couch to find his cell phone. He dialed her number and waited for her to pick up. When it went straight into voice mail, he had no doubt that she was intentionally not answering…or _he _was there. Sloan redialed the number and this time waited to leave a message. "Ori, baby, we need to talk. Please call me…I love you," he softly said and ended the call before setting the phone on the coffee table. He stared at it for a few minutes, willing it to ring. He was a very patient man, he could wait.

* * *

"If I wasn't starving…" Dave began, pulling Orianne roughly to him and kissing her square on the lips.

The black-haired woman laughed and ran her hands over his back and around to his chest to tweak his nipples. "A man preferring food to sex," she replied with a devious grin.

"Two things a man can't live without," he said, whacking her on the butt with a spatula. "I plan on getting both."

"A little arrogant, aren't you?" she asked, dropping her hands to his thighs and running them up to his waist before kissing the hollow at his throat. He groaned, tossing the spatula towards the ground beef that he had yet to start browning and wrapping his arms tight around her. Her lips met his and her body melted against him until her stomach growled. They separated and both laughed.

"Supper first," he stated and kissed the tip of her nose. "Go set the table."

Dave had been working hard to keep his hands to himself. They had decided on a local deli for lunch, stopping to eat in the park a block from the eatery. With some food in her, she seemed to be relaxing and then he had taken her to the gym, the phonecall from earlier in the day then melting away. She walked through the rooms, being careful to avoid the construction workers, with her mouth open and her eyes wide. She was so proud of him and was just a little hurt that he wasn't as devastated as she had been since they had chosen to end their relationship. He had cornered her in the women's lockerroom that had just been tiled to sneak a kiss and then confessed how putting the gym together was the only thing that had kept him sane. For someone who never cried, she was awful weepy but managed to hold back the tears. They were interrupted by one of the workers, who needed to ask Batista a question about the spa tiling. They had spent a while at the gym as he showed her the blueprints and the equipment lay-out. She had a few suggestions in regards to female clientele and he scribbled down some more notes. They talked about what he was going to do for advertising and promotions when he finally opened and she immediately offered to memorialize it on film.

The day had been too long already and, if they didn't have to eat, he'd have her upstairs in his bed and at his mercy.

"I assume that's your phone and it sounds like it's Olivia," Dave stated when he heard the familiar tinkling. Only Randy Orton had that many ring tones. He vested each of his numbers with a different song so that he could keep his many women straight and be prepared for which ever one it was before he answered it. Orianne claimed she had the different songs just because she was bored one day on the road before she and Cara started having lunch together.

Orianne smiled to herself, amazed that he remembered her sister's ring tone. "Let me see what she wants and then I'll be back to help."

By the time the beef had been browned, his girlfriend was back and she was laughing so hard her cheeks were red. "Let's hear it," he said, reaching for the seasoning for the tomato sauce.

"Olivia told him off," she finally got out around the chuckles.

"What?"

"Livi went straight to Sloan the second she got home and just bitched him out."

"Wow," he said, setting the basil down and turning towards her. "Remind me to never cross her path. Did she say anything else about what's going on there?"

Orianne's smile melted away and she seriously shook her head. "She hadn't talked to Mom or Dad before she called me. She was so angry that she had to vent before going in the house."

"You're worried, aren't you?" he asked, cocking his head sideways. "You're putting up a brave front but, underneath it, you're worried." She shrugged and reached past him for the oregano but he clasped his hand over hers and fixed her with his eyes. "Ori?"

"Yes, alright," she replied and pulled her hand away from his. "You weren't there when I told my family about the affair."

"Why did you tell them anyhow?"

"Because I knew they would figure it out one way or the other. I would rather have been honest up front than have to deal with that. My mom has already made it clear what she thinks but to do this to them twice."

"This is different," he stated, pinning her against the counter and lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. "Your marriage is over. The papers might not be signed but you ended it yesterday."

"I know but I can only imagine what they're saying about me right now."

"Does it matter?" She dropped her eyes and, once again, he lifted her chin. "It doesn't because what's done is done. Orianne, what matters is that I love you."

She finally managed a smile and replied, "I love you, too."

He softly kissed her and she shivered, her body reacting to the light touch. "Oh, what I'm going to do to you after dinner," he growled, gripping her butt.

'After dinner' finally came and the two lounged in the dining chairs. Orianne had found the taper candles left over from the birthday 'party' she threw him earlier in the year and the flames were flickering across their faces. The light playing in his dark eyes made her stomach swirl. They had been talking for a while, letting the meal digest, but now they were lapsing into silence. Dave couldn't take stop staring at her and she was beginning to blush. He couldn't believe that she was here.

"What's for dessert?" she asked, licking her lips.

"I have whipped cream."

"To go on what?" she asked but blushed deeper when he appraised her body. He had introduced her to new things in bed but they had never experimented with any food. "I'll go on up while you get the whipped cream," she said with a grin and slid out of her chair.

Halfway down the hall, Orianne heard her phone ring—it was Sloan. She paused for a moment but then made herself keep going. When it rang again on her way up the stairs, she didn't even think twice and bounded up the steps to the bedroom. Either he was calling to berate her or talk her out her decision and she was having none of either. She crouched over the bottom drawer of the bureau and peeked through its contents. She remembered seeing a black negligee in there last night when all she wanted was a pair of clean underwear. Including the one set of panties, she had apparently left another pair, a t-shirt, a sock she had been missing… "There's my hoop earrings," she exclaimed but then noticed the pictures that were under the clothing. He had the same ones she had kept but there were a couple of her alone, standing ringside either grinning at the camera or focused on taking pictures. One of the other guys had to have taken them and who knew how Dave had gotten them. The fact that he had them was enough to make her smile.

"You found my secret stash," he said, coming up behind her and then running his fingers through her hair.

"I was looking for lingerie," she replied but then stood up to embrace him.

He pulled back to wave the whip cream can at her. "I have all you're going to wear right here," he said, tapping the nozzle to her nose to dispense the topping and then licking it off. "Now just imagine what I can do with that with the rest of your body." She shivered, took the can from him, and tossed it on the bed. He grinned at her and picked her, striding the few necessary steps and laying her down.

While it had only been a few months since they last came together, it was as if they had been apart for years. They knew each other's bodies intimately but the sensation was as if they had never made love, as if this was the one moment to which their lives had been building. Each touch so familiar, yet so exhilarating as two souls sought to touch one another, to love one another, to be one.

Oddly enough, or maybe not so, the can of whipped cream was forgotten as they reacquainted themselves with each other. But it would have its moment later on that night.

* * *

"The best I could do was a flight two hours after yours," Orianne explained, turning away from the ticket counter.

"They couldn't get you on stand-by?" Dave asked and she shook her head in response. "Then I'll just change mine for then as well."

"No, it's okay," she replied. "If we're keeping this on the lowdown, it might be best that we arrive separately anyhow. You can call me with your room number and I'll come straight up as soon as I get there." But there was one more reason she couldn't say.

He didn't seem to agree but then finally nodded. "Alright, but you have to stay with me until my flight leaves."

"I can do that," she replied with a smile.

The second he boarded the plane, Orianne pulled out her cellphone and dialed her voicemail. She had woken up in the middle of the night, thinking about the call and hadn't stopped yet. She told herself she'd delete it without listening to it the second she got up and then she fell into an uneasy sleep. But upon waking, the woman thought that Sloan might be calling to tell her he already gotten a divorce lawyer. Maybe he was only informing her about his plans—she would need to know how to get in touch with him to legally end their marriage. However, she didn't want to check the message in front of Dave for fear it was indeed something else. He had already dealt with enough of her anger from yesterday.

The photographer sank to the chair at Sloan's words—_Ori, baby, we need to talk. Please call me…I love you. _The son of a bitch hadn't called her 'Ori' not once since returning, not to mention that he hadn't even said those three little words. Oh, he had admitted that he loved her in their couple's sessions but that went something along the line of therapist asking him if he loved his wife and Sloan answering 'yes.' It was a good thing that she was in public because she might have had a meltdown—she was infuriated. He was manipulating her and she couldn't figure out why. _Too little, too late_, she thought and deleted the message. He wouldn't be hearing from her except through her lawyer…whoever that would be.

Orianne wanted nothing more than to run into Dave's arms and let him hide her from Sloan, her family, and those who would start talking about her again. At least she was feeling less angry by the time she arrived at the hotel. Dave caught on to her mood but she blamed it on some cranky kid she was stuck beside on the flight. Unfortunately, he had to leave and she was left to get ready on her own.

After a quick call to Quinn to hitch a ride, she was on her way to the arena. Orianne felt as if her fellow photographers knew that she had left her husband for Batista. Would everyone else see right through her? She hadn't even had these thoughts when she was having the affair and, now that they were legitimately together, it shouldn't have mattered, she told herself. But once burned, no one was the same.

After about an hour there, she finally laid her paranoia to rest. But that was all the time it took for Cara Whitfield to figure it out. "Something's different with you. I caught you smiling. Are you and Sloan finally having sex again?"

"Cara!" Orianne should have been used to the blonde's candidness but she caught her off guard. Plus, she had absolutely no response back to the technician. "That's none of your business."

"Are you on drugs? Are you drinking again?" Cara asked, leaning in to sniff the photographer.

"No," the photographer replied, trying not to sound offended.

The blonde cocked her head and put her hand on her hip. "When I send you our wedding invitations and you reply with the name of your guest, will that guest be Sloan?"

"No," she admitted.

"Ha! I knew it! You kicked him out!" the tech triumphantly exclaimed.

"And what if he has an engagement elsewhere?" Orianne slyly replied.

"But that doesn't explain why you're all glowy." Cara stopped and suddenly gasped. "Dave Batista! You naughty girl," she said with a smile and shook her finger at her. "Just tell me you're not having another affair."

Orianne was caught. She didn't want to lie to Cara like she had about the affair and she had tried to skirt her questions but now she was cornered. "I don't want this broadcast. Don't even tell Cedarius." Cara nodded, practically salivating over the news. "I left Sloan and Dave and I are seeing each other." The blonde squealed so loud that her fiancé and Dennis glanced toward them. "Shhhh!" the photographer chided and grabbed the blonde's hands.

"My lips are sealed," she replied with a tight-lipped grin.

"They better be."

"I want all the details at lunch tomorrow," Cara warned and then squeezed Orianne's hands. "I've missed that smile."

TBC…


	3. Putting a Lid on It

_**Chapter III: Putting a Lid on It**_

While sex was not the reason for their affair nor was it the point of that relationship—only the culmination of it, now that Orianne and Dave were back together they couldn't get enough of each other. Maybe it was the fact that to be together over the weekend, they had to hide out in a hotel room with one bed, which led to only one thing. Maybe it was because they were making up for lost time. Either way, no one could find the two of them those four days unless they wanted to be found. As such, their phones were turned off and Orianne missed Sloan's call Sunday afternoon. His message was much the same and her response was no different.

Orianne knew she was going to have to deal with him and soon. If he called her every three days, she was going to break down and talk to him but she wanted to talk to a lawyer first. They were married in Prescott but she didn't want anyone local handling this. She didn't exactly want it advertised around the small town that she was divorcing their local hero. She would admit it only when she had to and she knew her image conscious mother wouldn't say a word. With that thought in mind, she knew who she was calling. Josh Holcomb was a Sweetheart in her sorority who had been paired with her for senior night pranks as he was still healing after knee surgery from a baseball injury. As neither was able to pull off the physical aspects of the pranks, the two were left to paint the signs. Photos of the night were a no-no because of their incriminating nature. Despite that he was a star athlete, the two talked all night as they worked and she learned that he wanted to be a lawyer. The seniors were relying on him to represent them before the student council if they were caught. By the time morning dawned, Josh offered her his services once he obtained his JD and she had sent a couple of clients his way over the years. She never thought she would be coming to him herself.

Josh's contact information was in her Stamford apartment. Why would she carry it? He was a divorce lawyer. Even though that dictated that she return to Connecticut, Dave attempted to talk her into coming back to DC. As much as she wanted to, she needed to call Josh, process film, discuss the upcoming diva contestant shoot with her superiors, and pack for a new week.

Even though Orianne had spent almost a year in her apartment alone and only three months with Sloan there, it felt odd to come home to it empty. The dirty dishes were still there from her last meal with her husband and she automatically stuffed them in the dishwasher so as not to look at them. His toiletries were still in the bathroom because she had neglected them in tossing him out on his ass. They found themselves in the garbage shoot before she even began to unpack. She then stripped the bed down and stuffed the sheets in the hamper—they had slept on them together and no doubt still smelled like his aftershave. Suddenly, everything had to go. The moving boxes were still there and she dumped out the towels and sheets that Sloan had packed and began taking down pictures that he was in. She couldn't destroy them but they had to be out of her sight. A blanket and a towel set that were wedding gifts and were somehow still in good condition followed. Thankfully, all of their wedding china and delicate memorabilia were in the guesthouse in Prescott. She didn't go far without a couple of photo albums and she tossed those in the box. The woman scoured the dressers to make sure all of his clothing was gone and there were a few more articles that followed the albums.

Orianne stopped and stared at the box, realizing that her heart was racing. Everything she could find was there. Starting to close it up, she noticed her wedding and engagement rings. Violently jerking the flaps open, she threw the rings in and turned away, the tears starting to form. Since she allowed herself to cry that day, it seemed that she couldn't stop. The woman then dropped down beside the box and began digging through it to find the rings. They were her grandmother's—god rest her soul. Orianne would never wear them again, even if she did marry Dave or anyone else for that matter. Her grandmother's memory didn't deserve them being treated this way. As the younger of the two sisters, Olivia never stood a chance of getting the rings—she could have them now.

What she wouldn't have done to have Grandma Thomas around. That woman told it like it was and made no apologies for doing so. She and Marian had always butted heads and she had no qualms about telling her son what she thought of his choice for a wife. According to Carter, she had lightened up with the first grandchildren—Orianne and Orrin. The photographer couldn't imagine Grandma Thomas being worse. She could only guess at what the woman would have thought of Sloan but there was one thing that Orianne did know, her grandmother would have set him straight if she even had the inkling that something was wrong. She would give Orianne some of her fresh-baked cookies and a glass of milk, patted her on the back, and then told her to buck up and do something about it. Well, her granddaughter had done just that. It was just that she needed confirmation from someone who knew everything. In all honesty, Cara didn't know the half of it and, of course, Dave was all for her kicking Sloan out—he was extremely biased in his support.

There was so much anger and uncertainty in her that Orianne knew she had to keep moving rather than dwell on it. Dumping the remaining checkbooks out of their box, she wrapped the rings in tissue paper and placed them inside and then nestled the checkbook box in the larger box. Orianne spent little time outside in the sun per recent jobs. However, there was still a faint line where the rings had been and the skin was smooth from where she hardly took them off. She wore them throughout the affair with Dave so that no one would be suspicious. They were such a part of her that they weren't really there and she wondered why Dave hadn't said anything about them when she came to him last week, begging his forgiveness.

Closing the lid on the box was not nearly as easy as closing her mind. How could someone be so happy and so sad at the same time? Even though she had returned to her husband, Orianne had resigned herself to Dave Batista as being an infatuation in her life. He was simply going to be one of the men on television that she highly appreciated in the aesthetic department. That was how she was going to deal with her feelings—fantasy, like she once had a crush on Robert Redford growing up. Problem was that she had already tasted Batista, that part was no fantasy. To now be with him, to know this kind of love, made her giddy, and she felt as she was walking in a dream, a dream that felt oh so real and was never going to end.

However, there was this part of her life that was now over. She had loved Sloan—still loved him but not in the same way she loved Dave. She couldn't just turn that off like one turned off a water faucet. She had been married to him for over eight years. Her life was about to change drastically and she told herself that it was for the better. It wasn't like she was going to do this alone; Dave would be with her every step of the way. This was what she wanted but yet she couldn't help but mourn for the life she was leaving behind. There was a decade of her life she spent with Sloan and she wouldn't trade all the good times for anything. Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good and any memories they would have tried to make would have been tainted. Thinking about Sloan never being home again was odd and, in a way, depressing. It wasn't that she felt alone without him but that he was no longer going to be her husband. She already felt guilty enough about the affair and now she was beginning to feel guilty for ending the relationship. But it was only right. They were no longer meant to be and no matter how much he was a part of her life in the past, it was just that—the past—and she only had her future to which to look forward.

But that still didn't remove the pain of a broken marriage. Orianne couldn't imagine that any marriage ended happily no matter how the bad circumstances. There was once love and happiness, especially in the wedding day alone.

Deciding then that these feelings were normal for anyone about to go through a divorce, the photographer flipped through her business cards and found Josh Holcomb's number. Glancing at her watch, she assumed someone would still be at his office and dialed the phone. When the receptionist answered, she asked, "Is Mr. Holcomb accepting new clients?"

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid not. Let me make an appointment for you with another one of our associates. Maura—"

"Is he in?"

"Yes, but he's not taking calls at the moment," the receptionist replied.

"Would you please tell him it's Orianne Thomas? He'll speak with me."

"Ms. Thomas, he's—" The woman suddenly stopped and there was whispering between she and another man.

After a bit of shuffling, the man took the phone. "Orianne, long time, no hear. How are you? Wait, if you're calling me, it can't be good."

She nervously chuckled and then replied, "Yeah, Sloan and I are splitting up and I knew you would handle things right but it seems you don't have room for me right now."

"I'll make room for you. Next week okay?" he asked, his voice assuring her that he was indeed willing to take her as a client.

"Sure."

"I'm sorry to have to run. I wish we could talk about it now but I'm late for a business dinner."

"That's okay."

"Deeann," Josh stated to the receptionist, dropping the receiver away from his mouth. "Get Orianne in next week whenever she wants. I don't care who you have to cancel." He shifted the phone and returned to his new client. "I'll see you then. Take care of yourself."

With a melancholy sigh, Orianne ended the call after setting up the appointment and stared at the empty white wall across the room where she had once hung a collage of pictures of her and Sloan. There was no point in letting the sadness of it all overwhelm her. In a couple of days, she was going to be back on the road, enjoying her job to the fullest, and seeing Dave Batista, arguably the sexist man in wrestling. Humming the Staind song that she had listened to last on Dave's mp3 player, she gathered up her film, tossed the rolls in her canvas bag, and headed out the door to the lab.

* * *

Hearing the sirens first, the red and blue flashing lights caught her eye and Orianne changed lanes to move out of the police officer's way. When he followed her, she realized _she _was the one being pulled over. The photographer never claimed to be a saint and had a few tickets to her name, a couple for speeding and a couple parking violations—she absolutely refused a handicap tag and there were a couple of days she took curbside liberties when she shouldn't have. Unless the speed limit had changed in the past several hours, she knew she wasn't speeding. By the time the officer was at her window, her hands were shaking and she handed her license and registration to the officer as he greeted her. He silently perused the two items and she couldn't resist asking why he had pulled her over.

"Is this your husband's car?" he asked, indicating the registration.

"Yes, sir, but I'm on the insurance. Would you like to see it?" she asked but then suddenly realized the man's questions and its implications. The car was indeed solely in Sloan's name simply because she couldn't be there the day he bought it and they never got around to adding her name on the title. He had reported her for auto theft out of spite. Her face turned a brilliant red and the officer's voice was nothing but a muffled sound.

"Ma'am?" he said, leaning closer in the window. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she replied, shaking herself, "yes, sir, I'm just so embarrassed to be pulled over."

"It's nothing but a taillight. Your right taillight and blinker is out. You need to get it fixed, have your husband take care of it, or take it down to Sal's Autoparts. Tell them Pena sent you and they'll change the fuse for you if that's the problem."

"I'll go now, sir," she replied, trying not to show her relief as she took her license and registration back from him. Where was Shaun Allen when she needed him? The boy had maintained the limo he had driven for the WWE; he would know how to fix it. As she pulled back out onto the road, she could only hope that it was simply a fuse.

Despite the fact she just wanted to go home after another late evening in the photo lab but was now on her way to an autoparts store and was horribly embarrassed about being pulled over, Orianne was glad that it happened because it made her realize that she was going to have to think about their few assets. She and Sloan only owned the one car because Sloan was gone so much; it wasn't worth paying for a second one to sit for a year at a time. They obviously didn't own a house. What Orianne hadn't invested in expensive photography equipment was tied up in stocks, bonds, and CDs. What else were they going to do with his salary when she got by on just her own? Being a career solider, he had brought little in way of physical assets to their marriage, which was understandable. As Orianne watched the autoparts employee crouch beside her open car door to switch out the fuses, her mind was churning with what she wanted to do about their possessions.

The question stayed with her, so much so that by the time she disembarked from the plane in South Dakota, Orianne carried a sketched out settlement in her hand. When Batista opened the hotel door, she dropped everything but the sheet of paper and launched herself into his arms.

"God, I missed you," he said, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Me, too," she replied, pulling back to kiss him.

"What's that?" he asked of the sheet in her hand.

"Oh, sorry, I meant to put it away," she replied, folding the paper a third time. "I have a meeting with my divorce lawyer next week and this is just my idea of the division of our assets."

"You're asking for your half, right?" Dave could not honestly care about the amount of money she wanted—he had more than enough to take care of her—but it was the principle of the issue. When she shrugged her shoulders and only offered a noncommittal noise, he plucked the paper from her fingers and began unfolding it to peruse it. "Ori, this is unacceptable."

"Dave, you have to see it from my point of view." He raised his eyebrows with a look that said, 'Which is?' In hopes of diverting him, she raised her left hand and waved her fingers. "Look, no ring."

"Yeah, I noticed the second you walked in the door. Don't avoid my question." He had _definitely _noticed her wedding rings were missing and he never wanted more to return to a primal state and beat his chest in victory. While they were together before, he had accepted that she was married. Her returning to her husband was part of the deal and he hadn't let her wedding rings bother him knowing this. When she had shown up on his doorstep still wearing them, he had chalked it up to her not thinking about it. But as she continued to wear them, he had chosen to focus instead on the fact that she was back in his life for good. He had to give her time to adjust and he didn't feel he could demand she take them off, although he sorely wanted to.

"Dave," she sighed, settling on the bed before propping her legs up on stacked pillows, "Let's be honest here. Technically, I ended this marriage twice." She held up her hand the second he started to protest. "No matter who's to blame, it was me that ended it. You know good and well, Dave Batista, that Sloan and I are both at fault for our marriage falling apart. But I chose to have the affair, even though there was quite a bit of influence involved there." She lowered her eyes and grinned a crooked smile. It wasn't working because his posture didn't change—he still stood, leaning up against the dresser with his arms crossed and a stoic face. "Not only did I have an affair but I kicked him out of the apartment. We weren't going to make it because I love you, the burden is on me. And I feel guilty about it."

"You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about," Dave said, coming across the room and sitting on the bed beside her. "Just because you turned to someone else for what your husband should have been giving—"

"Please, I'm just explaining what I'm thinking. My family is the only family he's ever known and I'm about to sever that. He's not going to inherit a third of his family's farm, he has only what he's earned by putting himself in danger year after year."

"You're going to inherit part of the farm?" Dave asked, sidetracked. He expected it to go to Orrin given the way her older brother was running the place.

"Yeah but I'm going to give it back to Orrin and Olivia. They're the ones that'll be keeping it alive, not me. I'm only humoring my parents by saying I'll accept it. And that's the point. I don't need half of what we own—which is virtually nothing anyhow," she explained, holding out her empty hands. "All I want is my photography equipment, no questions asked, and from our savings, just the amount of my salary from last year. That'll keep me going if something should happen to this job. I'm young enough to still invest in a decent retirement."

"But that's not the point. The point is that you were one _half _of that marriage and you deserve to walk away with _half _of it."

"I don't want a legal battle. It's not worth it. We didn't exactly part on good terms last week but I want this to end with as little fighting as possible."

"Don't let him win—" Dave began but was interrupted.

"It's not about that," she said, rising up from where she had lain on the bed to rest, and grasped his hands. "Nobody won or lost—there was too much hurt involved on everybody's part. I'm not going to ask for more because I don't want it. I simply can't take it and feel good about myself."

"I love you and I wouldn't want you to ever feel bad," he said, his eyes dropping to her hands. He rubbed his fingers over her naked ring finger and then smiled up at her. "Are you sure I can't talk you into keeping the Metro?"

"God, I hate that car," she replied with disgust.

"You can always trade it in."

"It's almost eight years old and I might get a thousand dollars out of it. Let Sloan deal with it," she said with a chuckle but then her smile dropped. "I'm going to drive it back home Wednesday and leave it there for him and then meet with Josh on Thursday."

"And you'll tell Sloan then that you're officially filing for divorce?" Dave asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Orianne answered, absently stroking his fingers with hers. "I don't know if I should talk to him about the divorce before talking to Josh. He called again today."

"Did you answer it?"

She shook her head in response. "I called Orrin and asked him to tell Sloan that I need time. I'll talk to him when I'm ready."

"Don't you think that that gives him false hope?" he asked in an anxious voice.

"Dave, he's not hoping for anything. It's probably a mind game and I'm not falling for it." Even though she said that, she didn't believe it. She was having more and more trouble not taking his calls. It was going to get easier because she loved Dave more than she wanted to rekindle her relationship with her soon-to-be ex-husband but he was starting to sound as if he meant what he was saying on the messages; she needed to set him straight.

"I've got to head to the arena. The key's on the dresser," he pointed to the white card, "since you'll probably be back before me."

Orianne nodded and then asked, "You're still telling Randy tonight?"

"Yeah," he replied, rising from the bed. "Might as well get it over with now so we can quit hiding. You know it'll probably be around the entire lockerroom before the night is over?"

"I would rather everyone know so that no one accuses us of having another affair when they see us together. I guess since you're still telling Randy, I should talk to Shawn."

They both fell silent for a moment and then Dave asked, "You sure you can do this?"

"Yeah," she replied with a heavy breath. "It can't be any worse than when we were caught in the hall in our underwear yelling at Sloan. Well, you had on underwear—I didn't."

Dave couldn't help but chuckle at her remark. "It's gonna be easier. It's not like you're the other woman. Wait, I was the other _man_."

She laughed as he scrunched up his nose in a snicker. "Do you know how sexy you are?"

"According to the signs at the arenas, I would like to think I'm pretty hot," he replied with a straight face but then smiled again. "Has anyone told you lately that you're the sexiest woman I know?"

"That's sad that I'm the only woman you know," she answered with a grin and then accepted his kiss before murmuring against his mouth, "You're going to be late."

With a groan, he released her to pick up his running shoes. "So, how was your flight?" he asked, completely changing the subject as he slipped them on.

While they talked about how their day had gone so far, Orianne smiled to herself, hardly believing that this was indeed her life now, as she watched Batista gather up his gym bags and check their contents to be able to leave.

TBC…


	4. Fair Game

_**Chapter IV: Fair Game**_

There was no reason for Randy Orton to be angry with him, Batista told himself as he walked through the backstage to the lockerroom. They had put their past behind them and were friends again—to an extent. The deceit was what had stung Randy the most and Dave knew it. He felt he owed the younger man at least the courtesy of telling him that he and Orianne were back together. And if Orton didn't like it, what difference should it make to him? So why was Dave so worried about telling him? _He can just kiss my ass if he doesn't like it_, Batista thought and pushed the door open.

Glancing around, Orton was nowhere to be seen but Edge tipped his head to acknowledge Batista. He dropped his bags beside the blonde and in front of the empty cubicle. "How was your week, man?" the other half of Rated RKO asked.

Dave couldn't stop the satisfied grin that spread over his face. He was supposed to tell Randy first but what would it hurt if Edge knew now? He was about to spill the beans when Carlito slapped his shoulder and then settled on the bench beside Edge. "Dude, who're you screwing? You are way too happy."

"Who says you have to have sex to be happy?" Dave replied.

"That smile on your face says so," Carlito replied.

The Heavyweight Champion wondered if they could see the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. "You seen Randy around?"

"You're doing Orton?" Edge asked. Carlito whipped his head around, his eyes wide and mouth open.

"No, you idiot. I need to talk to him about something from last weekend before it gets spread around."

"Not to sound like a gossipy chick, but you _are_ going to have to tell us now," Edge insisted.

"Later," Batista replied as the door fell shut and Orton entered the lockerroom. "Hey, Randy," he greeted, standing up and draping his arm over the other man's shoulders. As he steered him back out the door, the younger wrestler glanced backward nervously and then eyed Dave suspiciously.

"You know that I don't have a lot of reason to trust you," Orton joked on the other side of the door.

Dave rubbed his chin and chuckled. "Wanna get some coffee?"

"Uh, sure," he replied and followed the larger man down the hallway. After pouring themselves each a cup, they settled at one of the vacant tables. "Spill it, Dave." Batista quickly looked down at his shirt and then back up at Randy who was now laughing at him. "What's up?"

"I, uh, well," he began and Randy leaned back in his seat, wondering what in the hell Dave was into now. "I know we kinda worked things out over the situation with Orianne," he nervously drew out. When Randy bristled at her name, Dave was less sure of how to tell him but could honestly think of no other way. "She's getting a divorce and—"

"And you want to date her," Orton finished for him. "What? Do you think that now she's available that I want to? Because, Dave, let me tell you—"

"Randy, stop. Hold on," he interrupted and set his coffee down. This was not working as well as he had hoped. "Actually, we're already together," he said and Randy rolled his eyes and looked away, "and I only thought it right that I tell you first. I didn't want you to hear about it from anyone else."

"I appreciate the thought," Orton sarcastically replied.

"C'mon, man."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm happy for you?" he asked, suddenly rising. "You can forget it," he angrily added and stalked off.

"So much for that," Dave muttered to himself and checked his shirt again to see if he had spilled coffee on it. He hoped Orianne had more luck with Shawn Michaels.

The photographer had changed clothes and then organized her equipment for the night before slinging the cases over her shoulder. She chose to walk the two blocks to the arena, needing to get there earlier than her usual ride. The divas didn't seem to notice as she dropped off her cameras in one of the cubicles. She stopped Mickie and asked her if she could watch them for them for a while if it wasn't a problem.

She wandered around backstage until someone could point her in the direction Shawn Michaels was last seen. The wrestler was perusing the whiteboard with all the production notes and filming schedule, his script in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Shawn turned around to leave and saw Orianne approaching. "Hey, chick," he greeted and gave her a one-armed hug.

That was probably the second time he had touched her since he learned of the affair—two more times than her own husband. She couldn't believe that she had to do this. "Shawn, you got a few minutes?"

"Yeah. How's Sloan? He here tonight?"

"Uh, no," she answered, her mouth suddenly dry. "That's what I need to talk to you about."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, stopping in place.

Orianne glanced around, wanting to spare herself as much embarrassment as possible. "Yes and no."

"Let's talk," Shawn said, steering her in the direction where he would later be hosting a small Bible study and prayer.

Of all the places, Orianne did not want to be there. His Bible was on the table, along with his notes, and she forced herself to sit down in one of the chairs. She was not religious and, honestly, not very spiritual either. If anything, she considered herself to be agnostic after twenty-two years of attending the First Baptist Church of Prescott and then another eight of going off and on with Sloan to wherever they were. It's not that she rejected her Baptist way of life but that it couldn't be the only way to God and, after what she had witnessed through being a military wife, she wasn't positive she wanted to be part of this God that the religious had constructed anyhow.

Even setting aside biblical injunctions, she knew she was an adulteress but had refused to think about it. If she had given it too much consideration, she might have thought herself too filthy to be with either Sloan or Dave. It wasn't that it was a sin according to the religious but that it was a sin against both her husband and her lover. Her marriage was over and she was no longer acting as an adulteress, even if she was one in the past. But that was what was eating at her as she stared at the gilt-edged pages of the Book. Dave had already told her that she shouldn't be feeling guilty but then that would make him just as guilty if he justified it…or he could be right. Still, that didn't stop that Baptist preaching that had been drilled into her from bubbling up.

"What's goin' on?" Shawn asked and Orianne could have sworn he had reverted into that cold, distant look he had once used towards her despite his soft words.

Orianne swallowed hard and gripped the edges of the table. This was one more step in the finality of her failed marriage. Along the way, she had acknowledged it herself, the two of them had separated, and she had told Dave it was over. Shawn was the first person outside of her family and it was as if this was the moment that her failure was going to be public. "Sloan and I…we…we're getting a divorce."

With sad eyes, Shawn looked down at his coffee cup and let out a long breath. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Is he?"

"I don't know," she honestly replied, shaking her head.

"If there's any hope, you can't—"

"Shawn, there is no more hope."

"Do you still love him?" he asked, his eyes softening. Why did that keep coming up? Orianne wanted to scream in frustration. "You can't destroy your marriage over this…_indiscretion_."

"I'm with Dave now," the photographer adamantly stated.

"What?" Shawn asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"I didn't come to you for advice. I came out of courtesy to tell you instead of you finding out second hand," she replied, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

"Orianne, you shouldn't do this so quickly. If divorce is what you want, then you need to seek counseling, try separation. Going back to Dave is the worst thing—"

"I can't do this," she suddenly said, standing up. "I'm sick of the counseling and separation is not going to fix it. You can't fix what's in here." She angrily pressed her hand to her heart.

"Don't go," Shawn insisted, placing a light hand on her wrist. "Sit down and just tell me about it."

"You don't want to hear it. You're on his side. Just like most everyone else but Dave."

He shook his head and reached for her other hand. "I do want to hear. Please, tell me," he replied in a tone that reminded her of a mother trying to soothe her child.

She dropped back into the seat, propping her elbows on the table and dropping her head into hands. What would it hurt if she told Shawn her side of the story? Maybe he would believe her or at least stop viewing her as the adulteress bound and determined to destroy her marriage. With that, everything tumbled out. Finally, she held her hands out and admitted, "That's it."

Shawn nodded his head at her and then asked, "Do you want my opinion?"

"Why not? Everyone's got one," she replied in a nonchalant tone.

"You are right. Staying together isn't fair to Sloan or you and I don't want to ever see a marriage break apart. I don't approve of what you did and I commend you for trying to make it work. But you have to understand this from everybody else's point of view. You've hurt a lot of people, do you realize that?" Even though his tone wasn't accustaroy, she could only blink at him but he continued. "No one can justify an affair and you know that. But you and Dave both lied to everyone, even your family from what I gather. Don't get me started on what this did to Sloan, warranted or not. Look at what you're doing, what you're saying, how angry you were and the way you acted when I said something. Don't hurt anybody else because this is about what _you _want. You're rushing into a relationship with Dave far too quickly. You hit a boiling point and you needed to let it cool off and make sure that was indeed how you felt." Shawn sighed and watched her face for signs of recognition. "But what's done is done. I wish I could say or do something to make it different."

Orianne nodded, taking in his words. In all honesty, he had made her feel guilty with his words and she felt she should have been angry with him but what he said was true. It just wasn't something she wanted to hear when she was looking for comfort and someone to agree with her. The photographer sucked in her lips and then let out a depressed sigh. "Will you forgive me?" she whispered.

"Yes because I can see where you coming from and there is no point in holding this against you. But now, you have to realize what I said."

She nodded and then raised her eyes to add, "If you'll please stop looking at me like I'm an adulteress. I know that."

Shawn paused and blinked at her. "I didn't mean for it to seem that way."

"That's the way it felt," she replied.

"I'm so sorry," he said, still baffled over the way he must have treated her without realizing it because of his own broken family from his childhood. After a moment of silence between the two, Shawn began again. "I don't want to see this over but, if that's the way it's goin' to be, if I can't change your mind," Orianne nodded her head to confirm his statement, "then I wish you all the happiness and blessing in the world."

"That's all I need," she said with a smile and leaned forward to hug him.

"Please have Sloan call me."

"Yeah, I can do that," Orianne replied. The two of them had spent some time together and it seemed that Sloan could talk easily with the wrestler. If Sloan needed anybody—and she wondered if he did—then Shawn would be a good friend to him.

* * *

When the knocking woke her, Orianne was sure she had lain down only a moment ago to rest her tired legs. Any emotional stress always seemed to exhibit itself in a physical manner. She hobbled to the door, a catch in her hip slowing her down. Without thinking, she pulled it open and blinked against the bright hall light. 

"Bad night?" Dave asked with concern.

"Eh," she replied, flexing her leg at the hip and stretching it out in hopes of removing the kink. Finally, everything seemed to be back in place and she settled on the bed. "You?"

"Randy's pretty pissed," he replied, tossing his gym bags into a corner of the room.

"And you expected much different?"

"I think I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's not interested in you anymore," he replied with a crooked grin as he sat down next her.

"Ah, the words I've been longing to hear," she sarcastically replied and lay back down on the bed.

"You're not feeling well," he observed, taking her right foot in his hand and massaging it. "I suppose Shawn's not any happier than Randy?"

She couldn't talk for the moan escaping her lips. She'd marry Batista just for the way he could give massages—forget love, those kinds of massages were better than love and lust mixed. As his hands moved up to her calf, she could finally speak again and told him about their conversation.

"I hate it when people are right," he replied. "Not that we're wrong but…"

"I know. The divorce was coming sooner or later but all I could think all this time was what _I _wanted, what _I _needed, and quite a bit about what _you _wanted. No wonder my family hates me and Shawn was giving me ugly looks."

"Shawn was not looking at you like that," Dave chided.

"You weren't on the receiving end of those looks," she replied but he said nothing, remembering the chastisement he had received from Michaels. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "We're not rushing into this, are we?"

"You know I'm not going to say 'yes.' If you hadn't come to me, the second I heard about the divorce, I would have been right there," he answered, reaching up to cup her cheek.

"I don't think I could have made it waiting," she replied with a smile.

"Then, dammit, let's be selfish. It's not like it matters now because I'm sure everyone already know."

"Exactly, what's the point? By the way, Cara knows, so _everyone _knows. She's ready to announce our wedding."

"What?"

"She's being an amazing friend with the exception of not being able to keep her mouth shut. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to bother you but she figured it out last week." Dave raised his eyebrows and she could read his thoughts, 'Do tell.' With a chuckle, she opened her mouth to continue but only a moan escaped as he took her other foot in his hand began to knead it. Finally, she could speak again. "She got it out of me. What can I say? I swore her to secrecy but she told Cedarius."

"Tell me he didn't say anything?"

"Not until she gave him the go ahead. Dennis started making overtures at me as if I was some kind of cheating slut," Orianne said with a laugh.

"I'll have a word with Dennis—"

"He's a womanizer. He thinks that if you're not married, then you're fair game. I couldn't care less. It was actually kind of fun turning him down," she with a slight blush.

Dave paused for a moment and then realized that she was indeed 'fair game.' If she was willing to cheat on her husband, how willing would she be to cheat on a boyfriend? He didn't believe that she would do that but it didn't stop the thought. What exactly could he say to her or she say to him to allay that fear? She had pledged her fidelity to her husband and had broken that—a pledge, a marriage vow, what difference would that make?

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up and slipping her arms over one of his shoulders.

"Nothing," he said with a small smile. "You want to stay in tonight?"

"Only if you want to."

"I think so," he replied with a small nod.

"So, are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" she cajoled, running a hand down his chest.

"Just thinking about how much I love you and don't want to lose you," he replied, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles.

"I'm going nowhere."

"Even if you are 'fair game'?"

She could sense the apprehension in his voice and didn't blame him for his worry. "Trust me, you will not lose me to Dennis," she answered to let him know he shouldn't be concerned.

"What about someone else? I've seen you make eyes at RVD," he said with a roll of his own eyes.

"He's on ECW now, so no worries." She shifted to where she could raise up to kiss him and then whispered, "I know I cheated on Sloan with you. But the point is that it was with _you. _Until you have an exact twin, I don't see how I could cheat on you."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, you didn't but if I'm thinking it, then you must be," she explained, threading her fingers through his. He glanced away and then back at her before pulling her into lap. "I'm not upset if that's what you're thinking. I've been upset enough for the both of us and we've got to let it go."

"We said trust and no lies."

"Exactly," she whispered. "You can trust me because I will never deliberately do anything to make you doubt me or our relationship."

"Did you say those things to Sloan?" he asked and then realized how accusatory the words sounded.

She knew exactly what he meant and replied, "I kept too many secrets from him—a mistake that cost me a marriage. I've learned my lesson—god, I've learned so many of them."

"I trust you. I just don't trust all those other men who see how beautiful you are."

"Stop with the flattery. Just one look and I'll be naked and in your bed," she said with a grin. He couldn't help but chuckle and thenfixed her with his best 'come hither' stare. "Is that one of those looks now because I can't tell if it's an 'I'm a dirty old man' look or an 'I'm trying to remember the gross national product of Spain' look."

Dave burst out laughing and hugged her close. The feel of his broad chest vibrating against hers made the heat pool between her legs. If they weren't going out and he was giving her that 'look,' then the fact that she was so drained that she had drifted off earlier waiting on him to return was nothing anymore.

"I could use a shower," she whispered, nipping his ear, and he let out a low moan.

"Your wish is my command," he replied with a grin, wrapping his arms underneath her as she tightened her legs around him and carrying her to the bathroom.

TBC…

**

* * *

Author's Notes: **A quick note about the ridiculously wonderful shannygoat, who reminded me about the other side of Dave's and Ori's story, the people that they've hurt. (You won't believe me when I tell you that I already had in this chapter the whole 'cheating-trust' issue.) I tweaked some aspects in this chapter to bring that out and have since made a note to myself to keep this in my mind for future chapters. Dave and Orianne have been ridiculously selfish and they're going to have to own up that, which is what half of this story is about. 


	5. Golden Anemones

_**Chapter V: Golden Anemones **_

Orianne was not prepared for when Quinn, her supervisor, stopped her as they all piled out of his car at the next hotel. "We need to talk," he said, looking over his shoulder at her in the backseat after everyone else had gotten out.

"Yeah, sure, now?" she asked, assuming it was about the upcoming mini-photoshoot with Melina since she would be winning the title next Monday night.

He nodded solemnly and flung his arm over the seat beside him to see her better. "I heard some slightly disturbing news last night. You and Dave Batista are seeing each other?"

The photographer swallowed hard, recalling his warning about not getting involved with the wrestlers on her first night of the job. There was no way he couldn't have heard about the affair but that didn't mean the warning no longer applied. "Yes, sir. Sloan and I are no longer together."

"I said nothing regarding the affair because you cut it off and made it abundantly clear that you and Sloan were staying together. But you know what I said about being involved with the wrestlers," Quinn stated, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Yes but—"

"But what? As your boss, the affair already made me look bad but you redeemed yourself somewhat. But consorting with the wrestlers—"

"Dave and I are not just fooling around," she adamantly stated, refusing to allow her relationship with the wrestler look as if it was a fling. "We're serious. Short of firing me, I'm not sure there's anything you can do." Quinn turned back around in his seat and Orianne knew she had said the wrong thing. She _was _going to be fired now. His words had stung—she never wanted to make her superiors look bad and she had done exactly that. It was bad enough knowing he knew but to be called in on the carpet about it was even worse. But to call what they had a dalliance was too much. She loved Dave and no one was going to tell her that that was wrong, no matter Dave's status in the company. However, she shouldn't have fired off the first thing that came to her mind.

Finally, her boss turned towards her again. "I'm not going to fire someone as good as you are. I could care less what you do in your hotel room but my photographers crossing lines reflects on me. Just keep your nose clean from here on out."

"I have no intention of disappointing you in my work."

"I don't doubt your work but don't give me a reason to revoke this. Here's your schedule for the next couple of months," he said, handing a sheet across the seat to her.

"Thanks," she replied and glanced over it as she got out of the car, mulling over his words 'revoke this.' When Quinn dropped her luggage beside her, she muttered, "Holy crap!"

"Something wrong?"

"No," she mumbled and blindly reached for the handle of the suitcase, trailing it behind her as she headed into the lobby. She was going on the European tour. Because she was the newbie, she had been passed up on all the overseas trips with the exception of Holiday with the Troops. Budget constraints cut four photographers total from all three brands and only senior photographers were allowed to go. Realizing that the tour would be immediately after Cara and Cedarius' wedding, she must have been taking Cedarius' place. Well, she couldn't and wouldn't complain.

The sting and embarrassment of Quinn's confrontation was forgotten as she dialed Dave's cell to get his room number. She couldn't wait to tell him that she would be going to Europe as well.

If only the high that she was feeling had accompanied her throughout that evening. There were some glares and whispering but from the same people. Orianne was attempting to convince herself that they were just jealous they didn't have as much excitement in their life as she did. No matter what they had to say, she was in the right this time. She was (about to be) an unattached woman dating a single man. They were in love and, after shedding her religious skin, she didn't see how a piece of paper in the form of a marriage license could preclude them from sharing the same bed. If that was a problem, these people should be scowling at half of the wrestlers because it was like high school had broken out among the wrestlers and divas. They were almost more entertaining than the show itself. Unfortunately, she knew the difference between herself and those "consorting" with a different person each night. She only hoped that Dave's words were true—something else would happen and they'd be gossiping about that, the two of them forgotten. Their affair might not be the subject of the gossip, but she had no doubt she would always be treated different. Just the same, no one needed to be around those types of people anyhow—they were always 'us four and no more' anyway.

That resolve wasn't much of a boon then or now as she changed after the show into a flattering, knee-length skirt and spaghetti strap top for their evening out. Orianne and Dave both were not anti-social but neither were they social butterflies. She noticed that they were so alike when in groups—always listening, adding a comment here and there, and just enjoying the company of others. For someone who adored the wrestling spotlight, Dave was a generally quiet man who only needed the company of a few good friends. While they would rather have stayed in bed together, they were choosing not to neglect their friends like during the affair—with the exception of the poker group. Orianne wondered if they had only gone to keep up appearances but she did find that she very much missed the camaraderie. The poker group wasn't where they belonged anymore and she was willing to socialize in his circles where she had only been a fringe member by virtue of her photography. Because of the affair, her social circle extended only to Cara, Cedarius, and the poker group. It was time to branch out.

Dave didn't bother changing out of his suit from the show, just tossing aside his jacket and tie. That was fine with her, she could by far enjoy looking at his butt better that way. He ran his hands over her bare shoulders and then kissed the side of her neck. "Are you sure you want to go out to night?" he asked against her skin.

"If you keep doing that, I'm not going anywhere."

He trailed his lips up to her ear and sucked on her ear lobe as his arms encircled her waist. Suddenly, he pulled away with a shrug and stated, "Alright, fine."

She was so hot and bothered she could only stare at him but then a smile broke out across his face. "You are in trouble, mister," she declared and smacked his arm.

He intentionally flinched but still had that same arrogant smile. "You better make good on that promise. Let's go before I change my mind," he said, grabbing her butt and sending her towards the door.

Her playful mood was over as they entered the club and she clung to his arm, her body pressed up against. "Are you okay?" he asked, extracting his arm to wrap it around her waist.

"Just nervous. Are you sure they don't mind?"

"This is Edge we're talking about. If everybody doesn't care about him and Lita, why would they care about us?" he asked and she shrugged but now had a firm grip on his waist. Finally seeing their group, Dave waved and walked her over. "Hey, guys," he said and they returned his greeting.

"Scoot," Lita ordered Edge on the bench beside her and the entire row narrowed for the two newcomers.

"You all know Orianne Thomas?" Dave asked and there were several nods.

"Picture girl!" Carlito and Jeff Hardy chorused.

"Huh?" she asked with a furrowed brow.

"You don't know about 'picture girl'?" Batista queried, looking at her like she had grown horns. "Actually, how could you?" he muttered. "Every time you'd drop off extra pictures in the lockerroom, somebody would yell 'Delivery from the picture girl!'"

"Oh," she replied, blinking at them.

"You're somewhat of a celebrity," Jeff added, "because everybody knows who you are."

Her eyes grew wide and she whipped around to face Dave. "You brought us pictures every week," he explained.

"We've been quite bored the past few months, ran out of photos to throw darts at," Jeff explained.

"You used them for target practice?" she asked, in total shock that she had never stepped foot inside the men's lockerroom but yet she was well known for something other than her affair. Despite the fact they were using them as a dart board, she couldn't help but smile at the fact that they looked forward to her dropping the pictures off.

"Some of'em. Depended on who was in the doghouse that week," Carlito added.

Orianne leaned in close to Dave when Jeff changed the subject and nervously whispered, "Is that the only nickname I have in the lockerroom?"

"As far as I know. Besides, I think I sent a message with that fight with Orton," he said and flexed his muscles underneath her hand that rested on his arm. Her eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile let him know he had dispelled her sudden worry with his facetiousness.

"Dave," Lita called, leaning around Orianne. "Don't be so rude and get your woman something to drink."

"What do you want?" he asked the photographer.

"I drink it all. Surprise me?" He nodded and leaned in to kiss her but paused. He could publicly kiss her now and the thought suddenly hit him. His lips lingered and then he slid out of the booth with a smile.

"How are you doing?" Lita immediately asked but Orianne's eyes were staring out into the crowd.

Randy Orton had seen her and Dave kiss and he was doing his best to let the photographer know he was 'displeased' at the least with their actions. She tried to return the glare but then realized that Lita was talking to her. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I was just asking how you were doing," the redhead replied, unable to see who the other woman was looking at.

Orianne caught on to the concerned tone in the redhead's voice and knew this wasn't smalltalk. "Incredibly sad and nervous but unbelievably happy. I'm walking on air."

"Anybody giving you problems?"

"It's only been two houseshows but, so far, just some glares and a lot of 'I'm so sorry about your divorce.' Yeah, well, I'm sorry the situation had to happen but," she paused and glanced toward where Dave stood at the bar, "I can't complain about the outcome."

"You still have my number?" Orianne nodded and Lita continued, "You call me if you need me. You can always hide out in the women's lockerroom with me."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," she replied as Dave slid into the booth beside her and set the drink down in front of her. The heat of his presence made her want to melt into his body.

Rage and seven years of abstinence had driven her to make a fool of herself at the inter-brand party. Maybe if she had drank in moderation over that time, she wouldn't have binged. Guilt free, she took a sip of the drink and let the alcohol wash over her senses.

Throughout the night, Orianne let herself go and finally allowed herself to be who she was in public. Apparently they were a popular table and many other wrestlers and staff dropped by. There were the looks of surprise from those who had amazingly not heard the gossip. She cringed at each of them but took comfort in how Dave's arm possessively encircled her.

"Let's dance," he asked out of nowhere.

"You don't dance and you sure as hell know I don't dance," she replied, looking at his outstretched hand like it was a snake.

"And that's what'll make it all the more fun," he responded, beckoning her out the booth. "It's a slow song—haven't you ever gone to the prom and just swayed in a circle?" He leaned in closer. "I know you can keep a rhythm." Shrugging her shoulders, she slid off the bench and he tugged her to the edges of the dance floor.

Lita nudged Edge and pointed to the couple with a smile. The blonde kissed her ear and then stated, "They may _have had _a weird relationship but no one can deny what they have now."

Where one began and the other ended, Lita couldn't tell but it made her press closer to her own lover. She laughed when Dave spun Orianne away and then pulled her back and they both almost lost their balance, crashing together and bursting out in laughter. For two people who had the inability to be graceful in the art of dance, they found the rhythm of the music and their own rhythm that spoke a fountain of truth about their relationship. No one at their table was surprised when a flushed Orianne and a breathless Dave approached and the Heavyweight Champion excused them for the night.

* * *

The entire weekend, Orianne had little time to herself but she wouldn't dare complain. It took her mind off her paranoia that people were talking about her and Dave. It's not that she was so arrogant to think herself so important to be the topic of conversation but the first weekend people had heard about the affair, everyone had been talking about her like she was a whore. Either they weren't talking in her presence or fewer people cared this time around.

However, given the almost sixteen hours she had just spent in her car alone and the six hours she had spent overnight in a hotel by herself on the way back to Prescott, her mind had done nothing but mull over the situation—which included her impending confrontation with Sloan. Her stomach had been swirling the last fifty miles of the trip. By the time she pulled in the driveway of her parents' home, Orianne wasn't sure she would be able to stand up straight. Taking a large gulp out of the bottle of water situated in the console, she forced herself to open the car door and step out. Carter ambled out of the house to greet her and, by the time he was down the steps, Olivia was right behind him.

"You're running late," her father said.

"I know. I should have called but it was raining the last couple of hours and I didn't want to be on the cell phone and drive at the same time." She had unintentionally slowed down as if the impending weight of seeing Sloan again was dragging her down. She hadn't realized how late she was until she pulled in.

It had been a couple of months since she had seen Olivia and her sister quickly hugged her. "You look great." She leaned in close and whispered in her ear where their father couldn't hear, "It must be the sex."

Orianne couldn't hide the blush that rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Carter looked at his daughters suspiciously but they had always been whispering things to each other in front of their parents since Olivia could talk. "What have you been into?" Orianne asked, picking at the dustbunnies that were in her sister's hair and stuck to her t-shirt.

"I've been in the attic trying to find that antebellum dress of mom's for a costume party."

"A costume party in June?"

"Yeah, so? The sorority put it together as a charity fundraiser. We were bored, okay?" she whined.

"Whatever, Olivia. I was just asking. The dress is in the guesthouse attic, by the way."

Her younger sister shot past her but Carter caught her by the shirt. "Supper first."

"Is Sloan here? I should probably talk to him first," Orianne said.

"He's in Birmingham tonight, something about a new job," Olivia replied.

"I'll help you find the dress after supper. I'm pretty sure I know where I left it." Orianne sucked in a deep breath and ascended the verandah steps, steeling herself against the assault that she knew was coming from her mother.

If only it could have just been one of Furies descending upon her but no, she had to start with the silent treatment. Marian didn't shun her or refuse to speak to her completely—she simply said only what was necessary and in a dispassionate tone. Dinner looked to be a cold affair but Carter was willing to brave his wife, prodding Orrin to tell Orianne about the new colt they had received and how he still needed a name. The Thomas family was partial to Greek and Roman mythology and the rest of the meal was spent discussing names that hadn't been used yet.

Greek mythology would have been appropriate to describe the "conversation" between mother and daughter when Marian corralled Orianne. She turned into a cross between Hera and Ares and the photographer could only bear the scorn in silence—Hades would have descended if she had opened her mouth. She had already tuned her out upon the accusing question, "Didn't I raise you better?" Orianne wanted to try to talk to her mother, explain her side of the story, and definitely apologize, but the way Marian was attacking her only made her more defensive and angry.

Orianne truly lulled into her own world when her mother started singing Sloan's praises. What exactly had Orianne done to her mother? Was it because she was so liberal? Was she a disappointment because she didn't follow in the family business? Was she an embarrassment because of her stupidity as a thirteen year old girl that nearly crippled her? Was it because she left home when she married Sloan and chose to travel the United States? Orianne had always marched to her own beat unlike Orrin who was the perfect son. Now, it was because she was an embarrassment to the family and her mother was trying to save them from further shame.

When it seemed that Marian's assault was over, Orianne looked up at her and asked, "Are you done?"

"If you finally understand what it is I'm saying, then 'yes.'"

"I understand but I don't agree. So, that means I'm dismissed." Orianne brushed past her mother but then suddenly stopped and turned around. "Mom, I'm a human being, a woman. Yes, I'm ashamed that I made a mistake, one that I admit making. I wanted to beg your forgiveness but I bleed like everyone else and I'm tired of bleeding. There's only one way to stop it and you're going to have to accept it." She left her mother standing there with her mouth hanging open and called, "Olivia, let's hit the guesthouse."

Orianne should have been relieved that she didn't have to deal with Sloan that evening after dealing with Marian but the fact of the matter was that it had to happen and putting it off was going to make it worse. With Olivia behind her, Orianne slipped her key into the door of the guesthouse and pushed it open. The place smelled of Sloan without him even being there. The scent he left behind had, at one time, been what helped get her through his absences. She tried not to look around but curiosity got the better of her. Nothing was out of place, almost as if the house wasn't lived in. Peeking in the bedroom as they walked down the hall, she noticed that it looked the same as she had left it when they visited over two months ago. Sloan being a neat-freak really hadn't bothered her until this last time—partially because she was subconsciously annoyed with him for everything he did because he was not Batista. She preferred some messiness in her life—how symbolic since she had gotten herself in a big pile of it with Dave. Either Sloan wasn't upset enough to let his habits go or he was so distraught that his neatness was bordering on obsessive-compulsive.

Shaking away her thoughts, Orianne supported her sister as the girl climbed the chair to pull down the attic door. She then followed her up when the door and ladder were secure. The woman scanned the room with the flashlight until it landed on a plastic bin. "That's it," she said and Olivia's flashlight followed hers.

While her sister dug around in the bin and 'ooohed' and 'ahhed' over its contents, Orianne swept the light around, trying to remember if there was anything up there she needed to worry about giving to Sloan, keeping, or dividing. She stepped around an old desk and noticed a large gold frame. She remembered it once holding a mirror and, after the mirror had tarnished, she had secured the frame and pretended as a child to step through it into a fantasy world. It must have been four feet tall and three feet wide. It had been painted gold but now it looked tarnished. Paint didn't tarnish and she scratched at it and found that it had accumulated a layer of dust. Looking closer, she noticed the intricate carving of the frame sporting anemones, flowers associated with Aphrodite and Adonis. They were beautiful flowers with five petals and in the four corners were larger ones. Maybe she could have it gilded with foil or maybe redo it with paint or stain. She knew nothing about refinishing the frame but there was something about it that made her want to try it. It was calling her name and it had to come with her.

"I've got it all, the hoops and the shoes. Are you ready?" Olivia called, interrupting her sister's thoughts.

"Yeah," she replied, tucking the flashlight under her arm and carefully lifting the frame.

"What's that?" Olivia asked, trying to point at the frame around the heap of clothing in her arm and the hoop skirts around her neck.

"You didn't play with this when you were a kid?" Orianne asked in astonishment.

"Why would I? It looks like it should have been thrown in the dump years ago."

"I think I'm going to try to fix it up."

"Oh-kay," her sister replied, raising her eyebrows and turning towards the trapdoor.

The two girls struggled to get their finds down the ladder but managed to do so without incident. As Olivia stepped down from the chair after pushing the door closed, Orianne stated, "I think I'm staying here tonight. I really don't want to deal with Mom again this evening."

"Do you want me to bring you your suitcase?"

"No because I don't want to play her game. Gimme some of that," she ordered and lifted the hoops from Olivia's neck.

The sisters walked across the yard lit by a full moon but Orianne grabbed Olivia before she could take the steps up to the verandah. "Shhh!"

"What?" Olivia whispered.

"Listen."

Orianne knew it was wrong to be eavesdropping but she had heard her mother say, "Did I do something wrong raising her?"

Carter shook his head. "She and Sloan are not meant to be and that's something you're going to have accept. You've got to stop treating her like she tore the marriage apart."

"But she did! She had an affair," Marian said in a quiet, scathing voice as if the neighbors could possibly hear her. "Poor Sloan. He's like a son to me."

"Sloan had his hand in it too."

"I know but I can't help but think things would have worked out if it wasn't for Dave Batista. I know I taught her better," she lamented. Orianne was more than glad they didn't know she had returned to Dave already.

There was a long silence and she was about to ascend the steps when her father spoke again. "Marian, I love you and all your faults," Carter stated, "But you can't hold her at fault for your choices. She's not you and she never will be."

Olivia and Orianne both jerked their heads to look at each other. "What?" they mouthed at the same time.

"I'm going to bed. Will you be long?" Marian asked, rising from her seat.

"No, dear," Carter replied as she kissed him on the cheek and headed down the hallway.

Still outside, Orianne draped the hoop skirt back over her sister's head. "Here. I'm going to find out what just happened. I'll come up and tell you later." Olivia nodded and sailed through the door Orianne held open for her as if nothing happened.

Once the belle of the ball disappeared up the stairs to her room, Orianne turned to her father. "There are some beers in the guesthouse that I assume belong to Orrin. You wanna raid the fridge and have a couple?"

"Why not?" he replied, heaving himself up from the chair and following his daughter out onto the verandah.

Orianne dashed across the yard, pulled two beers from the refrigerator, and hurried back. She twisted the cap off of one with her shirt and handed it to her father and then uncapped the other for herself. She was slightly surprised that he wasn't questioning her regarding the alcohol but he loved a cold beer himself. Then she lamented how many times since she was twenty-one that they could have done this—behind her mother's back obviously. After a couple of sips, she began, "Dad, I know I look pretty amoral right now and this doesn't help but I heard what you and Mom were just talking about. What did you mean about holding me at fault for her choices?"

She could hear Carter loudly exhale. "Your mother had big dreams and aspirations but she's not quite as innocent as she would have you to believe. Hell, I'm not." He could barely see Orianne in the dim light spilling out from the house but her wide eyes were clearly visible. "We weren't ready to get married but, uh, well," he chuckled, "you and Orrin managed to push us in that direction fast. I know you don't believe this but your mother was once the rodeo queen. Even though she lived in the next town over, we had to meet in Texas." Orianne knew about how they met but always thought her mother so prim and proper that she would never do more than show a horse. "The reason you were handed a camera when you were thirteen is because that was your mother's passion. When you couldn't ride a horse, she wanted to give your something else."

"Why did she stop?"

"Because she thought she had to be a full-time mother to the two of you. She had it drilled into her head that was what she had to do."

"But she had a choice. We've also all technically been gone for three years. She could start again."

"She's too much of a caretaker now. She cares for me and you know she feeds the staff lunch everyday."

"And she resents _me _for this?"

"No, she resents _herself_, the situation. Getting pregnant before we were married was one of those ultimate sins in her home and she carried that guilt as long as her father was alive. You know he was a Baptist preacher before the stroke?"

"Really?" Orianne asked with surprise. Why didn't her parents pass on this kind of stuff about her family?

Carter nodded and then continued. "All that guilt came back with your affair and she feels she didn't do her job as a mother."

"That can't be all."

"No," her father replied with a sigh. "Your mother is jealous that you're all she couldn't be. She didn't even go to college because she had you and Orrin. It doesn't help that the two of you are so alike—holding it all in until it explodes. You're not a homebody, not a homemaker and that's who she turned out to be. You may not believe this, Ori, but you are highly opinionated and it only results in an explosive situation when you get two people like that in a room."

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Just don't fight with her. She'll accept what's happening. Just be sure that this is indeed what you need to do."

"Maybe the two of you should go with Olivia and Orrin to Texas this year," Orianne suggested, thinking it would do her mother a world of good to get out more often. "Deke is more than capable of handling the place for a couple of weeks."

"That's an idea," he replied, tipping his bottle at her and then draining it.

Father and daughter sat there a while longer in silence and then Carter finally called it a night. Orianne followed him in and then went directly to Olivia's room, who was close to sneaking back downstairs to eavesdrop on their conversation. Her sister was just as stunned as she and they talked well into the night about it before Olivia almost dropped asleep.

Orianne finally left and let herself back into the guesthouse. She couldn't sleep knowing the impending appointment with Josh Holcomb and that she would probably see Sloan sometime tomorrow. She settled down with the gilded frame and began to figure out how to take it apart to ship it back to Stamford. A few hours before dawn, she fell asleep on the couch amidst packing tape and foam peanuts.

TBC…


	6. A Point to Prove

**_Author's Notes:_** I'm very unhappy with this chapter, so please don't abandon me because of it. I'm not as irritated with any of the others. It's just not what I wanted but I've mulled over it for so long that I gave up and posted it anyhow.

**_Chapter VI: A Point to Prove_**

The appointment with Josh was late afternoon so Orianne could catch her flight shortly thereafter. When Sloan had yet to return to Prescott, she saw no choice but to leave him a note about the Metro. Telling him she was filing for divorce would have to wait. Orrin needed to head into Birmingham for some special order supplies, so he volunteered to drive her.

It didn't take a genius to know that Sloan had taken the Lincoln to Birmingham. So when it pulled into the driveway as Orrin was situating her suitcase in the extended cab of the truck, Orianne's heart splashed into her feet. She could be childish, shove her camera bags in the back, and tell her brother to step on it or she could be the mature adult and at least speak to him.

Sloan was already within feet of her by the time her equipment was carefully stowed. She leaned against the inside of the open door and demurely replied to his 'hi' in like manner.

"I didn't know you were coming. I wouldn't have stayed overnight in Birmingham," he began, not knowing where to start.

"I kinda made up my mind to come at the last minute."

"Ori, talk to me before you go."

"I can't right now. I really have to go now or I'll be late. I have an appoint…ment…" He waited for her to finish and she really didn't know how. Summoning every ounce of her strength, she calmly stated, "I'm seeing a divorce lawyer today. I'm sorry but I'm filing for divorce." Sloan closed his eyes and a stab of pain shot through her heart. "I have to—"

"Ori, please don't go. Just talk—" he pleaded but she interrupted him.

"I'll be in touch about it," she barely added, unable to handle the look in his eyes, and then slipped in the truck, shutting the door before he could stop her. "We have to go," she quietly stated to Orrin, who was standing on the other side of the vehicle with his door open.

Her brother paused, mouthed "I'm sorry" to Sloan, and slid into the truck. Orianne dropped her head and didn't look back up until they were down the road. Either Sloan was intentionally trying to make her feel guilty or he finally felt the pain that she had been feeling. She couldn't think about it—wouldn't think about it. She loved Dave and that was final. Guilt could not repair her marriage.

After half an hour of silence, Orrin finally spoke. "I wish you had told me your side of the story."

"It would only make me look worse," she replied, looking away to stare out the window at the rolling pastures and trees.

"Livi told me," he admitted and Orianne closed her eyes against the anger at her sister but then realized she was only doing it to take up for her, to make her brother understand. "I'm sorry if I made you think that I was only on Sloan's side. You're my sister no matter what you do and I still love you but Sloan will always be like a brother to me. I hope that's okay with you."

"It's okay. I don't hate him, we just can't be married anymore. And thank you, by the way." Orrin nodded at her words and continued to chew his gum. "So tell me what's going on at home beside the new colt," she requested to change the topic of conversation.

* * *

The appointment with Josh Holcomb was nothing but the preliminaries. Orianne explained the reason for the divorce and what she expected in regards to settling. If Sloan didn't contest her conditions, then all that was necessary was signing the papers. Josh promised to have everything ready for her second visit, which would be with Sloan and, if necessary, his lawyer. 

Batista held her close as she explained what happened with the meeting and when she told Sloan—and ran. "I'm a coward," she whined.

That was something that Dave actually liked but didn't understand about Orianne—she never gave herself enough credit. Gabrielle had no trouble believing that she was beautiful or asserting her beliefs or when she wanted something. 'Humble' was not in her vocabulary. Then there was Orianne. She would never think herself that desirable to men. She couldn't see her own talent for believing that she was only good at one thing. She was so unassuming and let herself be bent by whoever was pushing. She was too insecure and he had hoped he had instilled some self-confidence in her.

"You're the strongest woman I know—except my mother, of course," he said with a chuckle. For god's sake, the woman traveled from base to base with her husband, leaving family and friends behind, to make a way of life on her own. That wasn't counting how she battled back from and dealt with the effects of her accident.

Orianne couldn't help but laugh at his comment and she replied, "I'll be sure not to tell her you said that. By the way, your parents _do _know about us?"

"I've told Derek," he guiltily admitted.

"But not Dana or your mom and dad?"

He gently shook his head, rubbing his cheek against her hair as they lay in bed. "Uh, uh."

"Me neither," she added. "I mean, I haven't told anybody but Olivia. We've decided not to lie to ourselves and our friends, so when are we telling our family?

"Since you're coming home with me this week, I guess we'll tell mine then," he replied with a sigh.

"Pardon?"

"We'll tell them then," he replied, trying not to smirk over teasing her.

"Uh, the 'coming home with me' thing," she replied, looking up at him from where her head was lying on his chest. "I didn't work this week, so I need to work next week."

"C'mon, one more week. Please," he pleaded, turning on his side to face her, his hand slipping over her hip.

"Dave," she warned but he ignored her.

"Come home with me," he suggestively implored, propping his head up on his other arm and then running his hand over her breast. "Please," he added, leaning in to brush her lips with his.

Goosebumps broke out across her body and she shivered. "Alright, fine," she said, pushing his hand away. If she kept letting him caress her like that, she wouldn't be able to speak. "But next week is it. I'll be up all night getting caught up. Plus, you have to let me get some work done. I have the photoshoot for the diva contestants in two weeks." She had done some small work for the divas in the past couple months, shooting quick pictures for promos. This was going to be her third major shoot—the first two being last year's contestant search and the calendar—and her first since receiving the "honors" of becoming the "diva photographer."

"It's the diva contestants. It can't be that hard," he replied, showing his distaste for the contest.

"I have preferences for cameras and the like. I have to request they be sent out. I need to decide on the back drop and the poses. If I want to do a specific theme, I have to let them know in advance so they can dress appropriately," she explained, ticking the points off on her fingers.

"Dress? You _were_ here for last year's, right? They don't wear clothes, which, incidentally, I happen to like my women," he said with a leer and slid his hand over her waist from it rested on her hip.

"Yes, actually, I shot them last year. I think it was just a couple of weeks after we met."

"Then you know about the no clothes policy?" he asked, raising up to lean over her and pull the sheet away slowly.

"Are we even having a conversation about my work anymore? Or is this…" Dave kissed her neck and pressed the length of his body against hers. "…about…" He trailed his hot mouth between her breasts. "…sex?"

"If you want to keep talking about work," he murmured against her skin as he made his way down her stomach and nudging her thighs apart, "go ahead…if you can."

* * *

"Dave," Orianne laughed and tried to push his hand away as he pulled her handkerchief down over her eyes. 

"It's a surprise and I don't want you to see it until I say so," he insisted and held her hand tight when she reached to push the bandana out of her face and back onto her hair. The wrestler kept a close eye on her as the taxi came to a stop and he helped the driver remove their luggage.

"Wow, lady, is it your birthday or something? Did I miss Christmas?" the taxi driver asked with a laugh.

"Dave, what have you done?" Orianne asked, blindly reaching out for him.

"Wait, what _have_ you done? You must be in a lot of trouble," the driver stated, turning towards Batista and insinuating that this was a gift for something he had done wrong.

"If you want a tip, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and get back in the cab," he replied but couldn't help but smile. He pulled enough bills out of his wallet to take care of the fare and cover the gratuity. As the taxi pulled out of the driveway, Dave carefully maneuvered Orianne around to the exact spot he wanted. "I missed your birthday because, well, we know why. Big 3-0. Gotta do something big for it. So this is to make up for missing it and other things that you'll understand when you see it."

The photographer's heart was pounding hard in her chest. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he had gotten her. She didn't even know he had anything waiting for her until he tried to blindfold her with her own handkerchief. The woman pushed the bandana up to her forehead and stopped, her mouth dropping open. "Oh, Dave, you shouldn't have…" Orianne could only stare at the candy apple red SUV that sat in his driveway. Her feet wouldn't even move and her mouth forgot how to work.

"You look like a wrestler from LAX," he said with a laugh, tugging her handkerchief off her forehead and back over the crown of her hair. He then ran his hand up under her locks and looped his arm over her shoulder. "Well?"

"I… I… well…" she stuttered and walked forward to touch the driver's door.

"It's a hybrid. I know how much you hated that Metro but I know how much you hate wasting gas."

"You know how a hybrid works?" she asked, her fingers trailing over the frame and the ridiculously giant red bow to the backseat door.

"I didn't until the guy tried to sell me one. It's easy, no problem."

"Dave, I can't," she said, turning around to face him.

"Yes, you can," he insisted, coming to stand beside her. "You have to have a car that you gave Sloan's his back."

"But it's so expensive."

"I've got the money. I'm the World Heavyweight Champion," he explained and placed his large hands on her cheeks. She immediately brought hers up to grasp his wrists. "Being with me means getting spoiled. I plan on spoiling you absolutely rotten." She must have been gaping like a fish because she had nothing to say and could barely breathe when his mouth descended on hers.

When they finally broke apart, a bashful grin spread across her face but it faded just as quickly as it dawned on her what the gift was about. "Is this about the settlement? Are you trying to make up for I'm giving away?"

"No," he said too quickly and unconvincingly.

"Dave," she warned, slightly narrowing her eyes.

"Maybe so," the wrestler sheepishly responded with a shrug.

"You're not trying to prove anything, are you?" Orianne asked, cocking her head.

"Not really," he replied with that same shrug but continued when she glared at him. "Yeah, so most guys do jewelry and flowers but I'm not most guys. You need a car, I can afford one, and you also need to learn to let someone take care of you." It was the honest truth. He wasn't trying to prove anything but she had nailed him with the accusation about the settlement. It frustrated him to no end that she wouldn't fight with Sloan over what was rightfully hers and especially when she needed it to purchase a vehicle.

"But I can't do the same for you," she protested, placing her hands on his chest.

"You being here with me is all the gift I'll ever need. You'll never know how hurt I'll be if you don't take it," he replied with a pout, slipping his arms back around her waist.

"What is it that I offer you? You can give me the world but I have nothing to give back."

When he paused as if he was having to think about the question, she began to worry, but he was only looking for the right words. "You give me peace. You love me for who I am and not because I'm a WWE wrestler. You're you." He stopped for a moment and then smiled. "There's no other way to answer that. You give me you."

Dave knew how to make her insides melt and Orianne barely refrained from emitting a schoolgirl giggle. "I love you and I mean that with or without the car."

A grin spread out across his face and then he released his hold on her, asking, "How 'bout I take our luggage in, get the key, and take it out for a spin?"

"Okay," she gleefully responded and turned back to the car to walk around it while Dave picked up their suitcases. As he shut the front door behind him, he could hear her laugh and knew she had found the front car tag that he had airbrushed with "PICGIRL" on it. The order was already placed for her vanity plates with the same letters, an issue he would be discussing with her soon enough.

Upon entering, Dave's brother glanced over the back of the couch from where he was watching the Nationals game. "She like it?" Derek asked, standing up.

"Absolutely," Dave replied with a 'thumbs up' after dropping their luggage inside the door. Telling his brother about that he and Orianne were dating was quite possibly the most interesting conversation he had yet had about her.

"You banged the photographer chick?" Derek had asked when Dave said that she was getting a divorce.

"That's none of your business," he shot back. "I just thought you'd be happy to know I'm dating again."

"Yeah but banging the photographer chick? Before or after she decided to leave her husband?"

"Derek," his brother chided.

"Oh, I like her and all," the younger man quickly clarified. "I don't have a problem with her as long as there's not a problem with her husband."

"Well, there's not. I need you to do me a favor for her." Dave explained how he wanted this kept between the two of them until he told Dana and their parents. Then, he asked his brother if he wouldn't mind bringing the new Escape over to the townhouse on Tuesday to surprise her. Now the two brothers were in Dave's living room with said vehicle in the driveway.

"Thanks for driving it over. You do that bow yourself?" the wrestler asked.

"Are you kidding me? Monica figured it out," he answered, tossing the key to the Escape to Dave. "If you were going to impress your girlfriend with a car, why didn't you get her a corvette or something? An SUV says 'I want you to have my kids' and I know you better than that."

"Because it's her," Dave replied with a grin. He then picked up a keyring from the table inside the door and tossed it to Derek. "Here. Here's the key to the Lexus to get you home. I'll pick it up later."

"Oh, Dave," a woman announced, coming around the corner from the hall. "Did she like it?"

He nodded in response. "Nice job with the bow."

Monica slipped her arm around her fiancé's waist and smiled. "Are you bringing Orianne to the wedding?"

"If she can get off work. We're still up for supper Thursday, right?"

They both chorused a 'yes.' "We'll be gone before you get back," Monica added with a wink.

Dave shook his head with a chuckle as he shut the door behind him. "You ready?" he asked, handing Orianne the key.

"You drive first," she replied, pushing it back toward him. "I want to see how it handles first." Actually, she was too jittery, too excited, and still too much in shock to get behind the wheel. The vehicle was just a drop in the bucket for him. His bonus from Wrestlemania was probably more than what the car cost. It wasn't the money spent but the fact that he _bought her a car!_ How many guys did that for their girlfriends? Especially ones that were only dating for three weeks? It's not they were _only _dating for three weeks. They spent four months sleeping together and who knows how long flirting. Actually, she did—four and a half months. When were they supposed to celebrate an anniversary?

"Dave," she began but then abruptly stopped. Guys hardly cared about such things.

"What?" he asked, glancing at her and then back at the road.

"Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing," he stated, turning down a road towards the park they had eaten lunch at almost three weeks ago.

"It was," she dismissed meekly.

"C'mon, tell me," he prodded with a smile.

"It was stupid."

"Nothing you say is stupid," he replied and pulled into a parking space. "But if you don't want to tell me, it's okay. Your turn."

She paused and then slipped out of the car, coming around back. Dave met her and then gave her a quick kiss. "You know, it's not like we're getting married any time soon. So, are we gonna do the whole dating anniversary thing?" she finally asked.

"If you want. And we can make it whenever you want," Dave answered. As soon as she asked the question, he knew the underlying meaning.

"It has to have significance," Orianne mused, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You think about it and I'll think it about it and we'll come up with something," he replied but could sense it was much more than pinpointing a date to celebrate.

"Dave…" She looked down and then back up at him. "What do we tell people about how we met?"

"We tell them we met in the WWE. I picked you up in the rain and that's where it all started." She nodded and he tipped her chin up to look at him. "What does it matter, baby? Why should we care what others think? I love you."

"I'm just tired of the glares, the whispers, the gossip," she replied, a tinge of anger in her voice. "I'm not as thick-skinned as you."

"You don't think I wasn't affect by all this? I got in a fist-fight with Orton over you."

"I didn't ask you to do it." She wasn't a thing to be fought over. Her world had been turned upside and she hadn't cared about the fight then. It was the last thing on her mind as she struggled to fix her marriage.

"I was defending your name," Dave added.

"It was sullied enough without everyone talking about the fight too."

"The next time someone calls you a name, I'll have to just agree with them," he sarcastically replied.

Her eyes narrowed and she twirled around, stomping towards the driver's door. How could he not see that she had been through enough? What difference did it make if they simply left it at them meeting at work and just told others they had been together since she left Sloan? It was technically the truth.

Dave tried not to slam the door but it banged shut anyhow. He had been hurt by the talk as well. Just because he didn't show it didn't mean he didn't feel it. But the talk meant nothing to him when Orianne was back in his life. Still, how could she think he didn't care about what others said about them? He had threatened Shawn Michaels of all people.

The ride back to the townhouse was silent, both stewing over the conversation. Neither said a word as they entered the house, Dave heading to the laundry room to wash his gear and Orianne dropping her luggage in his bedroom. Going to the guest bedroom would be childish but she was so angry with him. Letting out a frustrated growl, she began sorting her dirty clothes and unpacking.

Dave brushed past her with his own suitcase and she bit her lip to not bless him out for not thinking about her feelings. Instead, she gathered up her toiletries and a change of clothing; she had to shower after the long flight. Until they straightened this out, it was going to be an unpleasant few days. She pushed the bathroom door closed and started the shower, hoping the hot water would do something to relax her. She felt like scum for arguing with him after he had just given her a car but how was she supposed to respond to his callousness?

Orianne was lost in her thoughts when the stall door slid open and, not expecting anyone to be in the bathroom, she let out a scream. "I'm sorry," he immediately gushed, placing a hand over hers that was pressed to her beating heart. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"What exactly did you think when you didn't tell me you were there?" she bit out, trying to keep her eyes from roving over his naked body.

"You're right. I was just thinking about how sexy it would be to surprise you in the shower and make everything up to you," he answered and tried to back away but the water cascading off her body beckoned him. "I'll just—" He pointed behind him but she reached out to grab his arm.

"No, c'mon. I didn't mean to bite your head off," she explained, maneuvering around in the large shower that was made much smaller with his presence. "There's no sense in us pouting over our first fight."

"I thought my stupid 'all or nothing' speech was our first fight," he replied, taking the soap from her hands.

"Well, that resulted in us staying together," she said with a reminiscing smile. "Here, let me." She took the soap back from him and indicated he should turn around.

"I didn't mean to insinuate that you weren't hurt by all the talk. I know you are. But it's only talk and you can't let it overwhelm you," he explained as she lathered his back and shoulders, massaging thoroughly.

"I never meant that you weren't affected either," she said as he turned around and she slipped her hands over his chest. "I guess you just seem to deal with it better than I do. I just don't want to exactly expose all the skeletons in our closet for anyone who doesn't already know about us."

"Then we won't," Dave replied, "We'll…" He lost his train of thought as her arms slid back around his waist and her fingers not so innocently washed his manhood. "Ah, hell, we'll talk about this later," he growled when her hands massaged his thighs. He ran his hands into her hair, thick with water, and pulled her close to kiss her.

"Later," she agreed against his mouth. "We've got some making up to do." Rinsing the soap from his hardening length, she corrected, "Well, I do, anyway."

Dave had yet to learn his lesson and began to chide her as she slid to her knees. "Ori, you—" He never was able to finish his reprimand, so it hardly mattered.

This time, she planted a soft kiss on his tip but then she looked up at him with a smirk. "Foot, up," she demanded, lightly slapping his calf to indicate that he should raise his leg so she could finish washing him. She was in the mood to frustrate the hell out of him. With a flustered noise, he allowed her to finish, plotting what he planned to do with the tease when she got done. When she ran her tongue up his length, he forgot what he was thinking but she only pulled herself back up, sliding her arms around his waist to turn off the shower. "Don't move," she ordered and slipped out of his grasp before he could stop her from climbing out of the tub.

Instead of handing him a towel, she began to dry herself off in a hurry. "Ori, do you mind?"

Vigorously rubbing her hair, Orianne let a half smile spread across her face and then reached for a dry towel. Even though she was momentarily content to just watch the water beads run down his tan skin, she pushed his hands away from the towel and started with his hair and carefully worked her way down his body, her face close enough to his skin for him to feel her hot breath.

"God damn, woman, what are you doing?" he muttered as her lips once again teased him and then left small kisses on his thighs and lower stomach. "I apologized already, so you can quit torturing me."

"Alright," she mumbled and began walking him backward into the bedroom, seeing how much of his broad chest she could kiss before they reached the bed. She pushed down and then followed, creeping up his legs to stop and hover above the center of his thighs. She watched him tremble in anticipation under her hot breath and then her lips closed over him.

Orianne had no idea in hell what she was doing when they first met but, now, she knew exactly what his moans meant and withdrew before he could warn her. With a long sigh, he struggled up to look at her, his eyes so dark she couldn't discern where the pupil began and ended.

"I want you to hold me while we make love," she whispered and gestured toward the headboard of the bed. Dave slid backward until his back met it and she crawled across the sheets to meet him. Rising to her knees, she straddled him and he eased her down over him before wrapping his arms around her, his fingers twining in her dark hair.

Their position made it hard for him to set the pace and he gave into her rhythm, barely able to keep his hands solidly around her rather than on her hips to help her along. When she began to slow, pulling back as far as possible without losing him and then plunging down, he dropped his hands to her waist but she took them in her own, lacing their fingers together and shaking her head. When she had him begging, her own self control was lost and she gave into his demands, driving them to the brink of climax.

It wasn't often that Orianne could make _him_ beg; usually, he lost self control and took command of the situation. The smirk on her face only died away when Dave announced that it was now time for revenge.

TBC…


	7. Reduced to Petty Threats

_**Chapter VII: Reduced to Petty Threats**_

It was just a lunch date with his parents, he shouldn't be so nervous. They liked Orianne at Christmas; she hadn't changed as a person. But after his mother and sister's warning, Dave was a little concerned about how they would take this. As far as they knew, nothing had happened between him and Orianne while she was "officially" married. That wasn't exactly an issue anymore. What was bothering him, he didn't exactly know.

"I didn't think my son loved me anymore," Hea began, pulling Dave down for a hug before he got more than ten feet in the restaurant's door, "never coming to see me anymore."

"It's only been a few weeks, Mom."

"And you only live ten minutes away from us as well," she chided, twirling the white towel that she was using to dry her hands.

"I've been busy," he replied, following her to a table that already had three glasses and silverware set on it.

"So busy you can't even have lunch or dinner with your parents?"

"I'm here now," he jokingly replied as he slid into the booth. His father then appeared from the kitchen, carefully balancing three salad bowls in his arms. "Dad," he greeted with a nod.

"Son," Hector replied and settled the bowls on the table before sitting down next to his wife.

"So, is this a courtesy call or…" Hea trailed off with a smile, curious to know why Dave had called her over the weekend and insisted they have lunch on _this _day. She would have lunch with her children everyday if they would just come by. They never needed an excuse as far as she was concerned.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," he replied, spearing a piece of feta cheese and a slice of tomato. "You remember Orianne Thomas from Christmas?"

"How could I forget her," Hea replied, setting her fork down. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this.

"Lovely girl. You should bring her by to see us again some time," Hector added.

"Didn't her husband come back a few months ago?" his mother asked, warily eyeing Dave.

This was going to make Orianne look so bad but there was no choice. "Yes, he did but, unfortunately, they are getting a divorce."

"Oh," she meekly replied and picked up her fork to stab an olive.

"We're dating now," he bluntly stated, seeing no way around easing them into the news.

Hector broadly smiled and raised his wine glass towards his son before taking a sip. "I wish you both the best."

"David, did you have anything to do with the divorce?" the petite woman across from him asked.

"Hea, have some tact," his father chided.

"The divorce was a long time coming," their son admitted, skirting the heart of the question. "We knew at Christmas that we had feelings for each other, so it's not really all that sudden for us to be dating."

"I have to take you at your word," Hea stated, taking a sip of her wine.

"I love her, Mom. I haven't felt this way since…" he trailed off at her piercing gaze. It was better off if they didn't bring up the skeleton of his ex-wife.

"Don't worry, son," Hector cut in. "She'll be accepted by our family. If you love her, then we love her, which we did already."

"Then you wouldn't mind having dinner here with her tomorrow night?" Dave expectantly asked.

"She's in town?" Hea blurted out.

"Absolutely," his father answered, glossing over his wife's comment. "I was disappointed you didn't bring her to the restaurant at Christmas. I know exactly what we'll have Alex prepare—think I'll make it the special for the day," he mused more to himself as he stood up to retrieve their entrees.

Dave could sense that his mother wasn't quite so sure about Orianne. It seemed to be more of his culpability in the divorce rather than Orianne herself. He knew Hea would treat her like part of the family for his sake.

* * *

Orianne tucked a stray hair back under a pin and, after one more glance over the black sheath dress, she exited the restroom. She had worked most of the day, spending the time on the phone and making sketches, while Dave had lunch with his parents and stopped in at the gym for a while. He insisted that she was to be spoiled some more because of her hard work today and cajoled her into a fancy dinner.

Rounding a corner, she literally walked into the back of a blonde and stepped back before the woman noticed. When the woman settled the baby carrier in the chair beside her, Orianne realized who she was—Gabrielle Dean Edwards. She had checked into Gabrielle when Dave told her she was his ex-girlfriend because curiosity got the best of her. The former model was gorgeous in person and Orianne couldn't believe that Dave was interested in someone as plain as herself. The photographer hid on the other side of the wall and then realized that she had no reason to hide. She was the one with Dave, not Gabrielle. The blonde was married with a baby and Orianne had no reason to fear her.

Yet, she still didn't move, eavesdropping on the conversation. Gabrielle apologized for bringing her daughter but she had no babysitter. Then she and the other man and woman at the table got down to business. Apparently, Gabrielle wanted back in the modeling business and she was portraying herself as a saint. One of them asked about Batista, having remembered they once dated. Orianne's face turned bright red as the woman made herself out to be a martyr in the relationship and how Kyle saved her.

The photographer didn't know what she was doing until she stepped around the corner and suddenly exclaimed, "Gabrielle Dean."

"Edwards now," the blonde corrected. While the woman was putting on a smile, Orianne could see the question in her eyes.

"That's right," she replied, putting a hand to her chest. "How could I forget? And this is your daughter. Isn't she beautiful?" Gabrielle moved instinctively towards the baby but Orianne had no intention of touching the child. "Did you ever get that paternity issue straightened out? I saw Dave not too long ago and I meant to ask him but I just forgot."

Gabrielle frowned at Orianne but then put the fake smile back on. "Yes, yes, I did. Thank you very much."

"She must be Kyle's. She has his nose," the photographer gushed.

"Yes, Kyle is her father."

"That's good, since you married him and all," Orianne replied, a sweet smile on her face. "I've got to run. It was good seeing you. Call me." The photographer held her hand up to her ear, her thumb and pinky extended, and then hurried off. She couldn't believe she had just done that and her hands and knees were shaking by the time she made it back to her table.

"Are you okay?" Dave immediately asked, reaching a hand out to take hers.

Orianne took a deep breath and then burst out laughing. "You have made me into a terrible person."

"If you just got into trouble, I won't claim you," he replied with a smirk.

"I just ran into Gabrielle."

"What?" Dave asked, concern written all over his face.

Orianne snickered and then finally managed to control herself to tell him what she had done.

"No, I don't know you," he replied with a laugh. "You better hope she doesn't know who you are. What I wouldn't give to have seen her face."

No, Gabrielle didn't have a clue who Orianne was but she was going to find out. Luckily, her table was positioned where she could see the door and she kept one eye on it while trying to smooth over the crazy woman's announcement about her daughter's paternity and still pitch herself to this agency. When she saw the woman leave with Dave Batista, she now knew why she had been attacked—she was Dave's new whore. It would be easy to find out who she was now. She smiled to herself and then turned her full attention to the conversation.

* * *

Orianne would never have known the tension that had passed between Dave and his mother at lunch with the way the woman was treating her—it was as if she stepped right back into the Batista home after a brief absence from Christmas. It felt so odd to feel Dave's hand on her back in front of his parents but, after so many months of hiding, it was only natural that she was still concerned about whether or not anyone noticed the touches and looks that passed between them.

"This is so exquisite," Orianne stated, savoring her first taste of bonito. She had never heard of it until tonight. "I know I told you last time but I really mean it, you are an excellent cook, sir."

Hector blushed and shook his head. "No, no, no, this is Alex's creation. He has really livened some of the dishes up around here."

"He's new?" she asked.

"My nephew," Dave's father proudly proclaimed. "My sister sent him from Nafplion three months ago to apprentice here."

"Nafplion…" she mused, holding up her finger to recall where she knew the name. "Nauplion?" she asked, the English name with which she was familiar. Hector nodded, encouraging her. "Oh, the Peloponnese. It's not that far from…" She started snapping her fingers trying to recall the landmark. "Mycenae!"

"Yes, good girl!" he triumphantly exclaimed. "You've visited?"

"Oh, no," she dejectedly replied. "I once planned a trip to Greece and Mycenae was on the list. I'm a bit of a Greek mythology buff." She and Sloan had scheduled a month's vacation to tour Greece and Italy for their five year anniversary but he had been immediately called up with the onset of war in Iraq.

"Why didn't you tell us this at Christmas?" Hector asked with an enthusiastic smile. She only blushed in response. She had done her best then to keep the talk about herself to a minimum.

Dave smiled with pride at his girlfriend—beautiful, skilled, _and _intelligent. She had easily won over his father in just those few comments even though he already knew that Hector liked her. It was a shame she wasn't as interested in Filipino culture because it would have done much more for bringing his mother around. He was going to have to sit down with just Hea and find out exactly what the issue was.

"You wouldn't stop talking, Dad," Derek cut in with a laugh.

"Can I help it if I'm proud of my family?" he replied with a broad grin.

In a few minutes, Dana appeared from the back and finally settled at the table although she had been moving back and forth between the kitchen. "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure we have all the prep done for the supper rush. I hope the bonito is good since we're making it the special," she said the last facetiously, glancing at her father.

"Did you know that Ori here—" The photographer immediately caught on to Hector using the nickname. "—knows about Nafplion?"

"Really?" Dana asked, tucking her napkin over her lap. "Before or after you met Dave?"

Orianne blinked at her and wondered what that was supposed to mean. She asked the question as if she was simply inquiring as to her knowledge of the city but she felt as if Dana was insinuating that she chose to become interested in his grandfather's former home because she was seeing Dave or to ingratiate herself into Dave's life. "Long before," she replied and decided it was best to change the subject.

After some excellent baklava for dessert, Orianne excused herself to the restroom. Dana was waiting on her as she stepped out of the stall. "Is your divorce final?" Dave's older sister asked while the photographer washed her hands.

"Ah, no, unfortunately."

"So, how exactly did you and Dave hook up?"

"Well, it's funny really. I was caught in a rainstorm walking back to the hotel and he was the only person nice enough to offer me a ride," she quickly explained, offering the slanted story. "We sorta became friends through mutual friends, ya know. And, well, when Dave heard about the divorce, he asked me out."

Dana pursed her lips. "So, you didn't leave your husband for my brother?"

"That is not the cause of my divorce," Orianne adamantly stated, growing angry and impatient with this conversation.

"Which is not final?"

"That's what I said," she replied in a seething tone.

Dana stepped close. "I love my brother and he says he loves you. If you hurt him because you don't have everything straightened out with your _soon-to-be ex-_husband, then I will personally see to it that your life is a living hell."

"You know what, lady?" Orianne replied, inching even closer. "I liked you. Dave made you out to be the most amazing big sister. I never doubted that. But you know nothing about my life and the hell I've been through. Don't reduce yourself to petty threats and make yourself out to be something Dave would be disappointed in."

The photographer stepped around Dana, careful not to brush up against her or to give too wide a berth to indicate she was scared of her. Actually, Orianne was terrified of what she had just done. If his sister said one word to him, she'd be out the door on her ass. Nobody would talk to Olivia and Orrin that way and get away with it if she had anything to do about it. Her words and tone were out of line despite Dana's threat. His sister was only doing what she thought best for her "little" brother.

Orianne hurried for the safety of the dining room with Dana following moments later. They both returned to the table as if nothing had happened but Dave noticed the pink in Orianne's cheeks.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I think I've had too much wine."

"You're a fish," he countered, referencing how much alcohol she could hold.

"Liquor maybe. But red wine," she replied, shaking her head. Inwardly, she groaned. That was lie number one but it was a white lie. There was no sense in telling him about the restroom confrontation with his sister.

The dinner wrapped up without incident and Hector made a big fuss over Orianne coming by to visit. Hea sweetly smiled and hugged her, whispering in her ear. "I love my son. I won't threaten you like Dana did." Orianne pulled back with a small gasp but Dave's mother held no malice in her eyes. She continued as the men seemed to be engrossed in a conversation about wrestling. She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "I know my daughter too well. I can see you know what it's like to have your heart broken and I know I don't have to ask you to hold his carefully."

"I would never hurt him intentionally," she reassured. Hea smiled in return and then turned to hug her son goodbye.

"What was that all about with my mom?" Dave asked as they slipped into his car.

"Nothing really. Just matters of the heart," Orianne replied and planted a solid kiss on his lips. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

TBC…


	8. Let'im Off His Leash

_**Chapter VIII: Let'im Off His Leash**_

Randy Orton and Dave Batista weren't exactly speaking but weren't exactly _not _speaking either. They didn't ignore each other but they weren't stumbling over each to talk. The gym was opening in two weeks and Dave felt he should mention to Randy that he didn't expect him to be there.

"You got a minute, man?" he asked, sitting down on the lockerroom bench beside the younger wrestler.

"Last time you asked me that, you told me who you were dating. I'm not sure I have a minute," he replied in a tone that Dave couldn't decide was mocking or serious.

"It's nothing, really. Just given the circumstances, I wanted to say 'thanks' for agreeing to come out to the gym's opening but I know you don't want to now."

"I keep my commitments," Randy replied evenly, pulling a roll of athletic tape out of his bag.

"You don't have to come. I would appreciate it if you did but I understand."

"I _said _I keep my commitments," Randy stated, fixing the older wrestler with a stare.

"Thanks, man," Dave replied. "You wanna stay with me or Derek or I can put you up in a hotel?"

"The hotel will be fine," Orton replied, biting the tape to cut it.

"I'll pick you up at the airport."

"Sure," he responded without looking at Dave and began wrapping his other wrist.

"Yeah, well, uh…" Dave responded, running his hands down his thighs over his pants. He decided to give up and left Randy sitting on the bench without another word.

"You would think the two of you were dating and having a fight," Edge joked as Batista settled beside him in front of his own cubicle.

"Ha, ha," Dave sarcastically responded.

"I thought the two of you were getting somewhere."

"_Were _is the key. Ever since I told him me and Orianne were dating," Dave said, swiping a hand in a flat line.

"Don't make me lock the two of you in the same room again," Edge warned. "You and Orianne coming tonight?"

"Of course," Dave replied. "We invited Cara and Cedarius along. That alright?"

"They're the cutest couple, aren't they? Lita said they were getting married."

"In July," the other wrestler answered. Edge nodded and continued lacing up his boot.

With a sigh, Dave sent a short text message to Orianne to say 'hi.' It was the next best thing to talking to her to push aside Randy's aloofness. She instantly texted him back with the same message and then he geared himself to focus solely on preparing for his match.

* * *

Sloan knew from the second that Olivia chewed him up and spit him out that he was wrong for walking out that door that day. He should have stayed and at least talked about their problems. The more he thought about his sister-in-law's words, he knew he shared the culpability for their marriage falling apart. Orianne had her fair share but it definitely didn't help that he was oblivious to what he was doing. He had assumed too much and been too controlling. Why couldn't she have told him? Would that have mattered much, he wondered. He probably would have ignored her or assumed something else. He was no longer arguing with Orianne's words from the day she sent him packing. He acknowledged each of them. It was her sister's that he was now having trouble with.

Olivia had really made him think when she accused him of not considering what had driven Orianne to have the affair. He assumed she grew weak and gave in to temptation; it was a concern all men in the military had about their wives. No matter what, Orianne did not _have _to have an affair. No one held a gun to her head. Yet, he had been the impetus and he knew it. He had left her lonely and tired of waiting on him. When he didn't take her ultimatum seriously when he was deployed, he might as well have signed a permission slip for her to cheat on him. She told him it was her or his career—how could he have been so stupid to think it was just her emotions talking from him leaving again?

He had lain awake at night, thinking about the empty space beside him where she should have been. He couldn't sleep for the images of her naked body entwined in another man's. He had no confirmation she was with Batista and could only hope that she had not gone straight to the wrestler. He had to have some kind of hope that it was not over. He prayed that she would call him back and he could do nothing but honor her wishes when she had Orrin ask him to leave her alone until she was ready to talk.

Pulling up in the driveway as she was about to get in Orrin's truck, Sloan had a feeling she was about to run. He just wanted to talk to her, to tell her he still loved her, to ask for another chance. He had not been expecting her and was disappointed she had not called to let him know she was coming. He had no carefully prepared speech, nothing, but he had to take a gamble and try to stop her.

Her anxiety to get out of there told Sloan that he wasn't going to be successful in talking to her. He wanted to touch her, to just feel her presence again but she hid herself between him and the truck door. He knew it wasn't good as her words faltered. Then that baseball bat was slammed into chest as she announced she was filing for divorce. No, they were supposed to talk about this, he was supposed to admit how wrong he was, she was supposed to yell at him, and then all was supposed to be forgiven. Sloan could only stare after the retreating truck. It couldn't be over, he wouldn't let it be over.

But he had nothing. He had to talk to her, to make her understand. When she called to tell him when he was expected in the law offices of Josh Holcomb, he quietly accepted the news. Arguing with her was going to get him nowhere. He attempted to engage her in some type of conversation but she immediately ended the call. This was going to have to happen in person and before they were due to see Holcomb. He was at a complete loss as to how he was supposed to win back his wife. Standing in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom, he tried not to compare himself to Batista. He had picked the man apart because, in reality, he knew he didn't compare. What exactly was he supposed to do now? He dropped his head against the mirror and watched his breath fog up the reflection. That's how he felt, like he was wading through fog. All he knew to do was to be honest with his wife and hope for the best.

* * *

Orianne dismissed the seventh diva contestant and paused for a break. She eased into a seat that her assistant Brent produced, having learned the signs of her physical fatigue. "Three more to go," she sighed, stretching out her left leg and then massaging the fingers on each hand. All of the girls had looked stunning in white, which Orianne had intentionally requested. Compared with the white silhouette of the "anonymous" diva on the official search icon, they stood out against the black and red background. Next week would be a little more difficult—she had already spoken to each of the girls and coordinated various backdrops that would best complement each of them. This kind of effort wasn't required and maybe part of it was that she was overcompensating for the gossip she was sure had reached her superiors' ears beyond Quinn. Still, she found she had enjoyed coordinating the shoot when last year she was in such a panic that she was sure had turned into agoraphobia as she had wanted to run as far away from people as possible to escape the responsibilities.

Just as she rolled her shoulders, large hands clasped over them and began kneading. The cologne then wafted around her and she didn't even have to look to know who was standing behind her. Still, she dropped her head back and smiled up at Batista. "Bad day?" he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek. The approaching clacking of heels immediately stopped as the next contestant abruptly halted at the sight of Dave Batista kissing a woman.

"No, just tired," she sighed and rose from the seat. "C'mon," she said, warmly beckoning the girl over and then making introductions between the diva wannabe and her boyfriend. It felt so good to see the look on her face that someone like Orianne had snagged the likes of the wrestler.

Dave perched on a nearby equipment crate and watched Orianne work. She looked a bit stiff, like she still wasn't wholly at home doing this. However, she had come a long way since he had seen her do the diva calendar shoot on her family's farm. When the same girl sauntered off, her eyes still on him, he rose from his seat and, this time, properly greeted his girlfriend with the slowest kiss he could muster, hoping that the diva contestant had seen him. He really shouldn't do that but Orianne was just as beautiful to him as any of those ten women who were about to whore themselves out in the ring for the next couple of months.

"How was your flight?" she asked, threading her fingers through his. There was no houseshow this past Friday because of the upcoming pay-per-view and both of them had flown in from their respective cities early this morning—Orianne to do the photoshoot and Dave for a meeting with creative and the P. R. team.

"Good," he replied but then stopped, rolling her fingers between his own. "What did you do?"

"Just a little project," she replied, picking at one of the band-aids. "I need to get a new one but I've got two girls to go."

"Ori," he chided, trying to determine how bad it was to need band-aids.

"Every time I get a papercut, are you going to rush me to the hospital?" she joked but the serious face he had fixed her with was enough to explain. "Let me finish up here, alright?"

Dave patiently waited as she worked with the last two women and whisked her off for coffee during her last break before the group shots. "Let's have it."

"It's really nothing," she began but then explained anyhow because she wanted to share her excitement over the project. She had already finished up everything in preparation for the diva shoot and her mind kept drifting to the phonecall to Sloan that she had made yesterday to give him the date and time for their first meeting together with Josh Holcomb. She had practically hung up on him because she couldn't stand to hear what he had to say. Now it was replaying in her head. Remembering the dismantled frame that was still sitting in its shipping box, she opened it and inspected the four sides to the frame. In attempting to screw the fasteners back in place, the small screwdriver slipped, sending her palm up the corner of the metal fastener. It bled a lot for a cut not deep enough to need stitches. But it couldn't stop there. Deciding it would be easier to strip the gilding off first, she began a testing process of how best to get it off. After a trip to the local hardware store for help and several hours after carefully peeling and sanding, she had come away with another two dings on her fingers that would require band-aids but only one side was complete to show for the cuts.

"Why didn't you tell me you were restoring an old frame? I would have helped," Dave offered, kissing her fingers.

"It's something I wanted to do on my own, take my mind off things."

"I can do that much better than a frame," he replied with a crooked grin.

"Yeah, well, you weren't there this week, now were you?" she responded, mimicking his smile.

"I've been meaning to—" he began but was interrupted by her assistant.

"Ms. Thomas, sorry to interrupt but, uh—" Brent nervously asked.

"Orianne, call me Orianne."

"Sorry, Ms.—Orianne. Layla's here and says she was told she was supposed to show up for the shoot. You know anything about that?"

"Not a thing," she replied, tossing her half-full coffee cup into the nearest trash can. "Let's see what we can do." She turned to Dave to give him a quick kiss. "I'll wait back at the hotel for you tonight?"

"See you then," he said and pinched her on the butt as she turned to go.

Despite her anxiety over the sudden appearance of Layla, Orianne couldn't help but laugh and wag a finger at Dave as she headed down the hallway.

She would later explain to him that someone had failed to provide her and Brent with the proper information. Layla had been commissioned to be photographed with the contestants and Orianne couldn't have been luckier that the diva was wearing a sapphire top and mini-skirt. The blonde prominently stood out among the other girls in their white attire. The group shots that involved Layla didn't go exactly as Orianne had organized but, with Brent's help, the women were rearranged and she was confident they'd come out well.

She finally felt relaxed that night when she and Dave settled into bed for the night. "You have got to believe in yourself," he stated while stroking her hair that was splayed out across his chest.

"I do when I'm in my element. Just don't throw in any wrenches," she replied, raising her hand up over her head to cup his jaw from where she lay on her back against him.

"Here's a wrench," he began, "what if—"

"No wrenches," she interrupted, patting his naked flank.

"Hear me out," he replied and she twisted around to face him. "Move in with me. You love the townhouse, you practically picked it out for me. You've already spent more time there than in your apartment in Stamford. The SUV's registered in DC."

"God, I would love to but—"

"I knew there was a 'but,'" he replied with a frown.

"But it's a lovely one." She smiled and wiggled her hand underneath him to cup his butt cheek. "Seriously, though, I have to work at the lab. You know that."

"I was hoping we could come up with something else. Get one of the local places to process the pictures or something," he mused.

"That's kind of cheating because I get paid to do that."

"But you wouldn't be doing that and technically you'd be paying them that money."

"Nice try," she said, patting his chest.

"Just think about it and maybe you can figure something out. Just consider this," he stated, pulling her up to straddle him. "You could have this every night." With a cheeky grin, he wiggled his hips against hers and snaked his hands up to her breasts.

"Who said I wanted that every night?" she replied with her own snarky grin.

Dave feigned hurt and flipped her over on her back. "When I'm done with you, you'll be begging for it every hour of the day." She swallowed her retort as his mouth devoured hers.

* * *

As soon as Orianne finished up with processing her photos, sorting them, discarding the really crappy ones, and smuggling out the ones she could give away, she said a 'goodbye' to Cedarius and Dennis and then gave a courtesy nod to the photographers from SmackDown, who doubled for ECW. It could turn into a madhouse in the lab if they all showed up at the same time.

By Thursday night, Dave was swinging her in his arms at the arrivals gate of the airport. The houseshows for the weekend were within a couple hours' driving distance from DC, culminating in RAW in Baltimore. The two planned to just deal with the drive time to spend the weekend together in his townhouse, especially since this weekend was the grand opening of Dave's gym. He had intentionally planned it for this Saturday so he wouldn't have to take time off.

Everything was ready to go and he couldn't be more excited. It was a good thing Orianne had been adamant about going back to Stamford the past couple of weeks because he had spent almost all of his waking time at the gym. He had been a little worried in tying up the loose ends but it all came together just in time. Orianne patiently sat behind the check-in desk Thursday night and Friday morning while he and a crew made last minute adjustments with a lot of frustration and hair-pulling. It helped to calm him to see her casually perched on the barstool and flipping through photography magazines while chewing the tip of a pen she occasionally used to mark a page.

Randy had chosen to drive in late Friday night and Dave met him at the hotel sans Orianne. He offered to take the younger wrestler out for breakfast the next morning but was turned down, Randy claiming that he wanted to sleep in. He'd be arriving mid-morning for the autograph signing.

Dave knew many people would show up just to see Orton…or himself but whether or not they were there to get a glimpse of the wrestlers or show genuine interest in the gym was good publicity and free advertising either way. His lawyers had advised him not to advertise the place as his own but what difference did it make if he was bringing in fans or not? His own name was the best advertising. He wasn't in it for the money but if the gym was sustained through stupid people willing to sign a contract and only show up in hopes of seeing him, then he really couldn't complain.

He couldn't believe the tingling excitement he felt as he inserted his keys in the door that morning with Orianne behind him. Shortly thereafter, his staff began showing up and he began introducing everyone who had not met yet. Minutes before he was to open the doors to the public, his security specially commissioned for today arrived and he made sure they were very familiar with Orianne so that they wouldn't accidentally toss her out for her intrusion with a camera.

Press releases had been sent out and representatives from a few newspapers and one magazine came. As for curious onlookers and serious inquiries, there were few enough for Dave to individually greet them until Randy Orton showed up at the appointed time. The girls and wrestling fans had already lined up in the parking lot but stopped at the door. With the wrestler's arrival, the place could have easily turned into chaos but security was able to keep it under control. Dave regretted that he couldn't sign autographs with his Randy but, as the proprietor, he felt his job was to be available to those honestly looking for a new gym.

Randy Orton immediately saw Orianne, casually snapping shots of trainers discussing contracts and equipment. He chided himself for thinking that Dave's girlfriend, who was attached to his hip, wouldn't be present at such an important event in his life. She didn't speak to him but kept her distance, unobtrusively taking pictures of his interaction with the fans. She stopped the first kid in line and asked if he would mind if she took a picture of him with Randy while holding up the flyer provided for the wrestler to sign with all the pertinent information for the gym. It was her first words to him and she maintained her professionalism. It irked him that she could be nonchalant around him. If she knew how much he hated her, she wouldn't even be speaking to him.

The younger half of Rated RKO had not committed to a certain length of time to sign autographs. The advertisements specified two hours but he continued until there was no one left in line, three and a half hours later. Stretching his back, he rose from the leather seat that had been brought out of the manager's office and gingerly strode for the restroom. Stepping out of the lockerroom, he tripped over Orianne who was getting a shot of the gym through the hallway and backing up without looking. "Bitch," he muttered.

"Pardon?" she angrily replied, straightening up from where he accidentally knocked her into the wall.

"Try watching where you're walking."

"Try keeping pejoratives to yourself," she retorted.

"Oo, big word," Randy sarcastically retorted, wiggling his fingers in a line at her. "Did you use those to turn Dave against me?"

"Excuse me? Turn Dave against you? You did that yourself when you couldn't grow up," she countered, slinging the camera strap over her shoulder to leave.

"At least I didn't go around making false accusations," Orton commented as she walked past him.

"What?" Orianne exclaimed, turning back around.

"You told Dave that I drugged you and tried to rape you."

"Try to see what happened from my point of view. But if you must know, he told me what you said and I let it go."

"So much so that you turned Olivia against me as well," he snapped.

"No, Olivia saw right through you," she said, taking a step towards him and pointing her finger. "What I think is bothering you is that maybe Dave sees through you now as well."

"If he did, I wouldn't be here right now. The problem is you've emasculated him. He's pussy whipped," Randy responded, folding his arms across his chest and not backing down.

"Don't talk about me like that because the way I see it, you wanted some of this too."

He narrowed his eyes at her and then seethed, "Let'im off his leash sometime, will ya?"

Orianne watched him coolly push past her and stride down the hall. She tossed her hair back, proud of her retorts. Comebacks were never easy for her. Yet, her anger over Orton's accusation betrayed those feelings. She was about to enter the women's dressing room to splash cold water on her face to ease the red out when Dave called her name. She turned around with a fake smile plastered on her face. "You okay?" he asked and she nodded. "I thought I heard raised voices but only Randy came down the hall. If the two of you had been arguing, I knew you would have ripped him to shreds." Dave added a wink with his joking smile.

"I do my best to avoid him. I just came out of the lockerroom right behind him," she replied—lie number two. It would only damage Dave's and Randy's relationship further. "Are you sure you didn't hear the TVs in the cardio room?"

"Yeah, I guess. Your face is red," he pointed out, cupping one of her cheeks. "Have you eaten?"

"I grabbed a quick lunch earlier with Marcel."

"You've overexerted yourself. We've got to leave soon anyhow to get the houseshow. Let's go ahead and get out of here, give you some time for a quick nap before we hit the road. Randy's already gone, so there's really no point in staying." She nodded in response, too tired to argue with him, and he threaded his fingers through hers to walk back to the office together. Letting go of her hand so she could pack her camera, his hand caught on one of the band-aids around her fingers. "You really should let me help you with that restoration."

"It requires small fingers," she replied. She had wondered if it indeed was worth peeling the paint little by little out of the grooves until her thumbs and forefingers were sore. But as she was halfway through the second side, she noticed writing on one corner that had been covered up with a fastener that had obviously not been original. After carefully scrutinizing the faded inscription, she finally deciphered and determined that it proclaimed the frame had been hand carved by her great-grandfather, Robert Lee Thomas. She had heard many stories about him and that his nickname was Traveller, after the Confederate general Robert E. Lee's horse. Great-grandpa Thomas was the founder of Thomas Horse Farms.

That the frame was hand carved made sense given the inconsistency in size and shape of some of the flowers. But the work was so intricate and consistent that only someone who carefully studied it would know that each of the flowers was not exactly the same. But knowing who had spent hours upon hours carving the beautiful frame made every scrape and sore finger worth it. Creating scenarios in her head for why he had carved it and how he may have presented it to her great-grandmother kept her mind off the impending meeting with Sloan and Josh Holcomb, the first official conference for all parties and hopefully the last.

"Your choice," Dave replied, folding a leather portfolio and then looking up through the office window as the bell above the door jangled. From the way he clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed, Orianne was afraid to turn around but she did anyhow. "Excuse me," he absently said and strode off.

Kyle Edwards didn't even seem to be fazed by the huge, angry man coming his way. He chose to ignore him and looked around the weightroom as if he was any customer considering the gym. The manager had just extended his hand to introduce himself to Kyle, who, with his bodybuilding physique, was a promising potential client, when Dave cut in.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Just coming to check out the competition," Edwards coolly replied, looking around.

"Then get out," Dave affectedly enunciated.

"I can look if I want. You can't refuse my inquiry."

Dave leaned close and then grabbed the man's shirt. "You see that sign behind the counter." He then stepped back and laughed. "Sorry, man, I forgot you can't read," he said, smoothing Kyle's shirt down. "It says I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason."

"C'mon, Dave, we used to be friends," the other man cajoled but Batista couldn't tell if he was sincere or mocking him.

"Past tense. You fucked that up when you screwed my girlfriend behind me back."

"Look who's talking? From what I hear, you were screwing another man's wife, a soldier's wife," Edwards countered with an arrogant tilt of his head.

Batista clenched his fists, reminding himself that he was the owner of this gym and this was his opening day. He couldn't make a scene right here in front of the check-in counter. "Get out."

"I think—" Kyle began but was interrupted by security.

"Mr. Batista, sir, is there a problem?"

He felt Orianne's cool hand slip into his and his rage calmed. "Yes, there is. Mr. Edwards here can't quite seem to find the door. He can't read and didn't know that that was an exit sign. Would you mind helping him _out_?"

The man nodded and then turned towards Kyle. "Sir, would—"

"I can see myself out," Edwards seethed and turned on his heel to stomp through the doors.

"Thanks," Dave said to the security officer. "We're leaving for the day. If he comes back, please don't let him in."

"Can do, sir."

The wrestler then turned to Orianne, who was still holding his hand. "Did you get security for me?" She nodded in reply and he bent down to kiss her. "Let's get out of here before someone else pisses me off and I lose it."

TBC…


	9. Alone with Ghosts

**Author's Notes: **This was a tough chapter to write because I wasn't sure if this is what I wanted to do. I'm interested in what y'all think. I'm not sure what any of y'all are thinking about the rest of it anyhow because only a couple of y'all are reviewing! But thanks for reading and getting this far!

_**Chapter IX: Alone with Ghosts**_

Orianne was surprised to see the Metro, now Sloan's car alone, in her parents' driveway. Sloan was supposed to be in Birmingham—he supposedly already had an apartment there for his new job, which he had only hinted at previously. It was only early evening and she expected to see at least her father or Olivia come out of the main house to greet her. Stepping out of the car, she glanced around the farm and everything felt too quiet. She turned to Orrin, who had driven to the airport to pick her up. "Is something going on?"

He shook his head and lied, "I don't think so." He slammed the door shut to the Range Rover and then added, "I've got a few more things to finish up for the evening." She watched him stride off towards the barn but still didn't feel as if everything was right. He didn't offer to take her suitcase in and Olivia still hadn't come out of the house even though her shockingly blue pick-up was there. Orianne shrugged her shoulders and lifted the hatch of the Rover to pull her luggage out. She wasn't about to go anywhere near the guesthouse with Sloan's car there and started for the verandah. When she heard the screen door to the guesthouse bang shut, she instinctively turned towards it.

"I'll get that," Sloan stated and hopped down the steps.

"It's not a problem," she replied, turning away. Josh had drilled into her that she needed to remain civil towards her soon-to-be ex-husband. She honestly did want to be anyhow. She didn't hate him, just hated the circumstances that they forced themselves into.

"Orianne," he said in a tone that reminded her she could use the help.

She stepped back and allowed him to grasp the handle. When he started for the guesthouse, she immediately stated, "I'll stay with Mom and Dad."

"I might not be staying tonight," he responded. She let out a long breath and followed him up the steps. He held the screendoor open for her so it wouldn't slam in her face. Once inside, she could smell the food that was cooking. As her face screwed up in confusion, Sloan turned to her. "I want to talk, just you and me, no lawyers, no family. I know you must be starving after your flight, so I made dinner."

"Mom would have taken care of that."

"Well, when I told her I wanted to do it, she was a bit encouraging," he softly said.

"Yeah," Orianne scoffed under her breath. "Shall we?" she asked, heading for the small dining table that was already set for two and held a single red rose in a narrow glass vase. He had something in mind but she was clueless as to the purpose of this dinner. Despite Josh's advice, she felt she had to hear him out. That didn't mean that she had to respond to whatever Sloan was going to say. "What do you want me to help you with?"

"I've got it all. Go ahead and sit down."

It's not that Sloan didn't cook; it was just that he was home so little that she chose to cook for him. Making him come home and work as well always bothered her. So, to see him go to great lengths over a meal was rather surprising. He laid oven-roasted, mesquite chicken before her with several steamed vegetables—Marian would have a fit if they weren't fried, but who was telling her?—and Mexican rice. He produced sun-brewed sweet tea, which he claimed to have made as well. Had he offered her wine, she would have went running out the door, screaming that her husband had been abducted by aliens.

Orianne realized that she had played right into his hands when she set her fork down from the last bite. Orrin had abandoned her and no one had stepped foot out of the main house because they knew that Sloan was going to ask her to dinner. Then, he had excellently set her off guard as he asked how her flight was and how work had been going. He knew that she had had a diva shoot and he inquired as to how that had gone. She found herself animatedly talking, telling her pride in how well she thought the women's pictures had turned out. She paused with the tea glass half way to her lips and fixed him with a stare. "You're never interested in my work. What's going on?"

Sloan took a deep breath and then let it out. He had been in the military for twenty-seven years and it had been a long time since he had been this nervous. Then, he was flying over a war zone, praying that the Air Force's tracking equipment would keep him safe from the enemy's arsenal. How could this slight of a woman across from him scare him so? "I said I wanted to talk but it's me that needs to talk and I just need you to listen. Do you want to go into the living room?"

"Yeah," Orianne answered. She didn't want a knife anywhere near her in case she was tempted to use it. She settled in the sofa chair, her tea glass perched on the arm.

Sloan sat on the end of the couch nearest to her and looked as if he would fall off he tried to get any closer. "Orianne, I messed up. Wait, no, I…" He paused and then corrected himself. "I fucked up." She didn't chide him for his verbiage and he continued. "Royally. I didn't see what a good thing I had until I lost it."

"I'm not a _thing_."

He looked down and nodded his head in agreement. "Bad choice of words. I made a promise to you nine years ago that I didn't keep. All I wanted was twenty years of service and that came and went and I felt as if I had to keep serving, that I had to do it for you and our family." Before she could protest, he immediately added. "I honestly thought you wanted to have children and I'm so sorry that I was mistaken."

"I'm thirty. When we were going to have those children?" she angrily asked and then downed the last of her tea.

He shrugged his shoulders. "But it's something I can live with." Her mouth fell open. Was he about tell her that he didn't want to go through with the divorce? "I couldn't care less about that now if that's what you want because that's how much I want you back. I ignored that promise, I ignored you in just more than the issue about having kids. I never knew you were so passionate about photography. I thought it was something you did to fill your time while I was gone."

Orianne set the glass on the end table and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She didn't want to hear any of this. "Sloan—"

He was losing her, she was getting on the defensive. "Please, I have more to say." When she nodded, he continued. "I don't care about the affair anymore. I said some harsh things to you I never meant. It was the pain talking and it didn't get any better. I felt like you had ripped my heart into pieces. Not my emotions but I honestly thought I was having a heart attack after I left the hotel. The ache stayed but I let it rule me instead of trying to mend our marriage. You were offering me trust and I betrayed that when I went through your things. When I found those pictures and the necklace, I felt the same, as if I couldn't breathe and my chest was going to explode. I couldn't fight back because I didn't know how or what to say."

When he slipped to the floor on his knees, Orianne dropped her feet to the rug. She watched him suspiciously but couldn't stop his arms as he leaned in and encircled her waist. "Ori, please, don't let this be over," he said, his voice breaking as he pulled her close.

"Sloan, don't," she said, the tears starting to fall. "Don't. I've made my decision."

"I will treat you like the princess you are. Just don't leave me," he added, choking over the emotions welling up in him.

"No, Sloan," she replied but her arms circled his back. "I can't…"

He pulled away to look up at her and then rose up just enough to kiss her softly. "Ori," he murmured against her lips and then pulled her up to stand with him. Her brain was screaming at her to push him away but her arms wouldn't work and his mouth descended on hers again. He hadn't kissed her this deeply in so long and she found herself responding in kind. She turned with him as he carefully maneuvered them to the couch and then shuddered as he lay her down and followed.

As Sloan's hands reached for the buttons on her shirt, she finally found her resolve. She pushed him away and slithered out from under him. "Sloan, no," she said, standing and putting distance between them. "Now _you_ have to listen." The tears were freely flowing and he wanted to wipe them away but she would draw back. "It really is over. I love Dave. I realized that more than anything the day you found those pictures. I choose Dave."

"Don't say that," he pleaded.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you and kicked you out. I should have acted like a mature adult and told you my feelings. I know that but I can't be with you because it's not fair to you," her breath caught in a sob, "and it's not fair to me."

He began shaking his head and put the heels of his hands to his eyes. "You don't love me at all?"

How was she supposed to respond to that? Of course, she loved him but her heart was no longer his. "I will never stop loving you but it's not the love of a wife for a husband. I've spent a third of my life with you—I can't wipe you away and forget about you."

"Then why do it?"

"I'm doing it but I have to close this chapter on our life. Our story is done, Sloan. It's over," she explained, pleading with him to hear and accept her words. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. Nothing you do or say can make me change my mind."

Her husband could only stare at her retreating form as she hurried out the guesthouse. He could hear her retreating steps as she dashed down the stairs. She had rendered him speechless only one other time and that was when she had kicked him out. Yet, the way she had responded to his kiss and his touch told him that she was still uncertain. In that instant, he had no idea what that would matter but he was going to have to let her walk out the door and he was going to have to show up tomorrow in Birmingham at Josh Holcomb's offices. He didn't have a lawyer but he could still listen to what hers had to say before employing his own if necessary.

Orianne didn't look back as she sprinted across the yard and to the barn. She didn't care how much she looked like a gimp as she moved as fast as her legs could take her. The woman started grabbing tack off the wall and dropping it over the fence into the pasture. She was already scanning the horses for Ares—the strongest of the faster of their horses. She needed speed and strength. With tears dripping down her cheeks, she stormed back into the barn for the saddle blanket and tossed it over a fence post. Going back for the saddle, she heard someone enter as she began pulling at it from its pegs high on the wall. Whipping around, ready to give a tongue lashing, she paused as she realized it was only Deacon Malone, her brother's closest associate on the farm. She wiped the tears from her face and then turned back to the saddle, giving it a good jerk but only managing to get it off one of the pegs—it was too high for her.

"Don't ignore me, Orianne," Deacon said in his deep, gravelly voice and reached over her head to pull the saddle down for her before she hurt herself.

"I'll do what I damn well please," she replied, hefting the saddle onto her shoulder and pushing around him.

"Orianne," he sternly called and she stopped dead in her tracks. She hadn't heard that tone of voice from him since he forced her to face her fears about riding again. "Don't go out there."

"I'll do—what—I—damn well—please."

"The last time you stormed out of here to ride a horse, you ended up in a wheelchair for a very long time," he stated evenly, striding around her to block her exit.

The tears were flowing freely again and she tried to sidestep him but he was too quick. Trying the other way, he once again blocked her. "Get out of my way," she seethed.

"You're going for Ares, aren't you?"

"That's none of your business," she barely said, her words catching in her throat.

"It's getting dark outside," he said as she dodged him but this time he caught her in his arms. "You want to kill him like you could have killed Aramis."

The saddle dropped to the ground with a thud and she collapsed against his chest, the sobs coming freely now. Deacon had tried to remain neutral over the situation as he heard talk around the farm. He chided those who gossiped about his boss' daughter and he warned those who maligned Sloan. No one had the right to talk about something they didn't know about. It wasn't so easy to maintain that ambivalence with her crying in his arms like a child.

It had been a long day and it was already several hours past when Deacon usually left but he had to see to a patch of fence that had been torn down by what he guessed to be hooligans out looking for trouble. He was climbing in his truck when he saw Orianne limp across the yard from the guesthouse and into the barn but waited to start the ignition. When he saw her produce the first of the tack, angrily throwing the bridle and halter over the fence, he knew what she was doing. He put two and two together and figured she must have had an argument with Sloan. She was already going back for the saddle by the time he got there. He wasn't about to let her hurt a horse or herself because of her failing marriage. He only removed the saddle from the wall because she would keep trying to take it down and not listen to a word he said. When she fell into his arms, he could only cradle her like he had when she was a young girl, hurt by her own childish actions and afraid to face what she had once loved with a passion. She would never compete again but she could learn to ride again. This time, the hurt went beyond the physical and he couldn't teach her to get back up on the horse. He already had his suspicions that someone else was already doing that.

When her cries began to quiet, he pulled back to wipe the tears away. "I don't know and I don't want to know unless you want to tell me," he softly said.

"Thank you for keeping me from making a huge mistake. I'm sorry I fell apart on you."

"You have been strong for too long. Don't make apologies to me. Go on into the house and I'll put the tack up."

"I got it out, I should put it up." She didn't want to come out of the barn until she knew Sloan was gone.

"I heard the car leave, he's gone," he said and she shook her head, wondering how he could read her mind. "Make me one of your apple turnovers the next time you're home and we'll be even."

"It's a deal," she replied with a crooked smile that made the corners of her eyes turn up.

"That's my girl," he responded and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door.

No wonder she had had a crush on him as a kid, she thought as she sniffled and trudged toward the guesthouse. It was either deal with the remnants of Sloan's presence or deal with her mother with her face red and puffy with him gone as well. She chose to be alone with her ghosts.

TBC…


	10. I Told You So

_**Chapter X: I Told You So**_

Looking around the conference room decorated in soft earth colors, Orianne never thought she would find herself in a divorce attorney's office, not even when she laid down her ultimatum to Sloan last year. Her stomach lurched when Josh Holcomb entered with several files in his arms and she quickly sipped from the waterglass in front of her.

"Everything's going to be fine," Josh comforted, sitting down in the leather seat beside her.

"I know," she quietly replied and carefully tucked her hands into her lap to stop them from shaking.

"Is there anything else you want to go over before we start?" She shook her head in response. "Orianne, you're asking for so little. Once the papers are signed, we can't change anything. You're going to lose all military benefits once this is over."

"I know," she once again responded. "This is what I want. I've already signed my part."

"Alright, then I'm going to get Sloan," Josh said, rising from his seat.

"He's here already."

"It _is _time, hon," he replied, a hand on her shoulder.

Her mouth formed a small 'o' and she dropped her head to wait. Even when Sloan came into the room, she didn't meet his eyes. Yesterday's confrontation was still fresh in her mind. Realizing he was alone, she finally looked up. "Where's your lawyer?"

"I didn't plan for one, Ori. I had hoped yesterday would have gone much better."

"You've not employed one at all?" Josh asked and Sloan shook his head.

"I was hoping we could resolve this without one," the other man answered.

"Then you don't plan on contesting the divorce?" Josh asked, scribbling down notes on his yellow legal pad.

Sloan ignored the question. "If we go forward with this, Ori, what are you asking for?" Josh slid the file across the table and began to explain. "That's all?" he asked after perusing the paper. "What? Does Batista plan on providing for you?" He didn't mean for it to sound so harsh but that's the way it came across.

"I can take care of myself," she bit out. "I've been doing it since the day I married you."

"I'm sorry," he immediately replied, dropping his eyes to the paper.

Josh produced another set of papers and then fanned them out across the table. "Orianne has made it clear to me this is what she wants. If you find that acceptable, then you just have to sign these." The lawyer then laid a pen on the first set of papers with a sticky arrow tab on the first line for Sloan's signature. His wife had already signed them and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't breathe or swallow. For a moment, he thought his heart stopped.

"I…I…need to think about the settlement."

"You're actually going to try to take what little she's asking for?" Josh angrily asked.

"No. I…" He blew out a deep breath. "I'm not ready to sign these." His hand dropped heavily on the papers.

Orianne closed her eyes to try to gain control. She opened them, the gravity of the situation written all over them. "Sloan, just sign the papers. It's all over."

"Baby, please, don't do this."

"We've been through this already," she wearily replied.

There was a moment of thick silence and just as Josh opened his mouth to break it, Sloan spoke up. "I think I _am _going to contest this," he stated, gathering up the papers. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

"Just be aware I have another set of those," Josh warned. He had seen some crazy people in his day who thought they could end the lawsuit by destroying the paperwork.

Clutching the documents, Sloan stood. "I know you don't want this to happen as much as I don't. Just think about what you're doing. I mean it when I say that I love you and want a second chance."

Orianne could only silently watch him stride off, knowing he had unbuttoned his gray suitjacket as it billowed out. He was coming unraveled and she could only hope he realized that he had to let her go.

* * *

Even though it had only been Thursday, Orianne had chosen to leave Alabama. She couldn't go back to the farm because either Sloan would be there or her mother—who still was holding out hope that the meeting would end in reconciliation. She didn't want to tell her that day. So, the weary photographer had already booked a flight out of Birmingham. Knowing this, Dave met her in Baton Rouge. They had spent much of their time before and after the shows with their friends and she needed this one night with just Dave to regroup after the past two upsetting and disappointing days. The hardest part was telling him that she had kissed Sloan back. 

Dave dropped his head into his hands, propping his elbows up on his knees, overwhelming jealousy coursing throughout his body. He shouldn't be mad at her but Gabrielle's cheating on him came to mind. He had to trust Orianne; they promised they wouldn't lie to each other. It happened exactly like she said, which meant Sloan preyed on her emotions and manipulated her.

"I signed the divorce papers. I'm not going back to him," Orianne quietly explained, rising up on her knees on the bed and massaging his shoulders.

"I know," he said, choosing to believe her rather than let the knowledge of the kiss mar their relationship.

"I'm all yours and nobody else's," she added, leaning forward to brush his cheek with her lips.

He twisted sideways and pulled her into his lap. "Move in with me," he said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I said I can't. Are you asking again as proof that I love you?" He didn't immediately respond and she wiggled out of his grasp. "That is not trust."

"That's not why I'm asking," he replied, although it did cross his mind. He thought maybe that if she moved in, Sloan would get the hint and sign the damn papers. "This just reminds me how lucky I am to have you and I can't help it if I want you to live with me."

She settled beside him on the bed. "Dave, it's not that I don't want to. I would if it would work out with the lab.

* * *

Orianne's words about moving in with Dave if she could echoed in her head so clearly that she actually thought someone said them aloud as she stared at the paper handed to her the next day by Quinn. "Is this for real?" she asked, looking up from the memo. 

"Yeah, sorry. Budget cuts are a bitch," he replied.

"What about the FanFoto program?"

"It's going nowhere because it's making a pretty penny. You tired of it? I'll pass it off to Cedarius," the head photographer offered.

"No, that's fine. Just curious."

With that, Quinn started to leave but then turned back around. "Just a note of warning, Dennis is pissed. I wouldn't cross him if I were you."

She nodded, her eyes scanning the paper again. The accountants were always looking for ways to shave the budget and they had found a way to trim off half of a department. Photography was now going completely digital. The studio equipment was already digital despite how much Orianne disliked it. The processing equipment was being sold and they were now expected to use digital cameras ringside. This was good and bad news.

The bad news was that she despised digital cameras; her training was limited with the equipment. It was too hands-off for her and never produced the quality that she wanted. Plus, no more processing and playing with exposures in the lab. According to the memo, the department would provide her with a camera but it would remain the property of the company. She owned her equipment and would have it no other way. It would take her forever to choose a replacement camera because the only digital one she owned was only good enough for FanFoto. That's not counting no extra photos to pass out to wrestlers and divas.

The good news was that she was no longer required to live in Stamford. She didn't think the houseshow was going to be over with fast enough to tell Dave. They always met back at the hotel so she could change out of her khakis and t-shirt and for everyone to meet up before heading out to find a place together. She hurriedly switched to a skirt and red halter top—a little daring for her but she had packed it to celebrate when she thought she was going to be a free woman.

"I have a surprise for you," she immediately said before Dave even got the hotel door shut.

"Wow, you look hot," he stated and the blush crept up her cheeks. "Maybe we should stay in tonight."

"We're going to have plenty of time for that," she replied with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck. After pulling him down for a kiss on the tip of his nose, she released him and then handed him the memo from Quinn.

"This is for real?" he asked, his face afraid to reveal his hope, and she tried not to laugh as she had said the same thing.

"Yep," she excitedly squeaked, the ear-to-ear grin still there. "Seriously. So now we'll find out if you really do want me to move in."

"Yeah, I think I'll change my mind now," he sarcastically replied, pulling her into his arms and twirling her around. "I can come home with you this week and we can be back in DC by Thursday evening."

Orianne couldn't help but laugh because she was thinking the same thing. "I would love to but I need to process this weekend's work and find a new camera. I'll have everything ready to go and you won't even have to squish yourself into my bed."

"That's what the floor's for," he replied, squeezing her butt cheeks.

"That's where we're going to end up unless we get out of here now."

* * *

The gym had gotten off to a good start. Batista's accountant had informed him that within the first week that he had gotten three-quarters of the contracts that he needed to break even with operating expenses; it was more than they had hoped for. He had personally signed three more contracts before he left Wednesday evening to meet his parents for dinner. They usually took Wednesday nights off because it was the slowest day of the week and he met them at their house. 

Nothing about the situation seemed out of place until there was a lull in the conversation and he realized his mother had hardly spoken. He and his father had been discussing the gym and work the entire time and it was unlike her to not add her opinion.

"David," she began and he knew he was in trouble again. "We got some disturbing news this weekend and I don't want to trust this news considering the source but I have to ask you about it."

Dave put down his fork to show she had his full attention. "Go ahead," he evenly replied.

"It was passed on to us that you and Orianne were having an affair for months before her husband returned. I hope this is not the truth but I have to ask."

His jaw began to twitch as he considered what to say in response. "Truthfully, it's none of your business."

"Now, David," she began.

"Who said this?"

Hea paused and then explained that Gabrielle had come in the restaurant over the weekend, delivering the news. She had heard that Dave and Orianne were dating again and felt it her duty to warn them about the kind of woman they were letting in their family. She even gave them names to verify the information. Hea had chosen to speak to her son rather than check the woman's sources.

"God damn that woman," Dave muttered, knowing exactly where this childish display was coming from. It had been funny when Orianne insulted her but he was right when he stated that they better hope that Gabrielle didn't know her.

"Watch your mouth, David," Hea chided.

He didn't see any way out of this because it would only take a few phone calls and the right questions to confirm Gabrielle's story. "Tell me, Mom. Forgetting what Gabrielle has said and that we got together a little quick around the divorce, what do you think of Orianne?" Hea was caught off guard by the question and Dave dryly chuckled.

Hector finally spoke up. He didn't exactly approve of the way Hea was going about things. In all honesty, it _was_ none of their business. The only problem was that he was just as concerned about their son. "I've already you told you, son, she is welcome in this family," he said, his eyes drifting over to his wife. "I, for one, find the lady delightful and she brings out the best in you. I would love her like my daughter-in-law. Hea?"

"Fine," she angrily relied. "Yes, I would never have thought one bad thing about her until the sudden divorce and what Gabrielle had to say."

"Then what does it matter _now_?" Dave asked with a frown.

"Do you not worry that she'll leave you for another man?" Hea softly asked.

"That's a possibility whether or not we had an affair. Yes, it has crossed my mind but I trust her. Our relationship is nothing like hers and Sloan's."

"So you did have an affair?"

"Yes. Okay, Mom?"

"No, it's no okay," Hea angrily replied, cutting him off. "Dana and I both told you to stay away from her. She was married and you had feelings for her. What did you think was going to happen? Of course you would end sleeping together if you didn't walk away. You know the consequences and it didn't stop you."

Dave ground his teeth together while he mother went on. It was the truth but it was also now the past. "It happened, we ended it, she went back to Sloan, and he took her back knowing about it. They couldn't make it work before the affair and they couldn't make it work now." He could see the disappointment in his parents' eyes and he knew exactly how Orianne had felt. "What's done is done and we can't change it. What we did was wrong and we know it. But what we're doing now, there ain't one damn thing wrong with it." He dropped his napkin beside his plate and stood. "I don't feel like dessert. I think I'll be going."

"At least take some with you," Hea meekly replied, scuttling off to the kitchen.

"She loves you, that's the only reason she meddles in your love life," his father explained, rising to start gathering the dishes. Dave silently nodded and began helping him stack the plates and silverware.

In record time, his mother returned with the foil-wrapped plate. As he took it from her, he stated, "I suppose now is as good a time as any to let you know that Orianne is moving in with me next week. I had wanted to invite everyone over for a fourth of July cook-out but not if you're going to treat her any different because of this."

"We'll be there," Hea replied in way of an apology, placing light fingers on his arm. She was by far not happy with this situation and was going to need time to digest it but there was no sense in alienating her son because of it.

"Thanks, Mom," he said and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.

TBC…

**

* * *

Author's Notes: **I'm heading home for a week to see my family. I'm camping with my grandparents, so there goes any Internet (which is really good for me because I need a break). I'll have another update sometime around next Sunday. 


	11. Making It Worse

_**Chapter XI: Making It Worse**_

Orianne always had a set procedure for arriving at the arena. She rode to the venue with her fellow photographers as they usually arrived later than the wrestlers. Their staff passes and identification were verified by security and then they stopped at the central hub of operations to sign in. At that point, they received all the information they needed in regards to the matches and went over the schedule with Quinn. If it was a Monday, their presence was required earlier and they attended the informational meeting for all wrestlers and select staff. Then, they were free until time for the show to begin. Usually, Orianne would find the women's lockerroom to store her cases and personal belongings.

This Saturday, however, the photographer was carrying a vase of two dozen red roses that were presented to her at central. She hadn't checked the card yet but her smile gave it away to anybody who could see her face for the flowers. Even Randy Orton's glare in her direction didn't dampen her spirits. She basked in the admirers who said anything about the beautiful roses despite the fact that she didn't like receiving flowers. It was a waste of money to her as they would die in a few days. Still, she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't touched by the gesture or proud of the fact that Dave was intentionally showing his love for her to staff and wrestlers. There was something in everyone giving Dave props for having the vase delivered and how much he obviously cared for her.

The divas gathered around the second she managed to get in the dressing room with no arms and without damaging the roses. She heard Melina crack a comment about Dave going to score tonight but Orianne already knew that was a given. She snatched the card out of the bouquet before any of the girls could get it. Whatever he had to say was private and between the two of them.

When they had all cooed over the flowers and began to drift off, the photographer pulled the card out of the small envelope. She had to quickly turn around before anyone saw her face fall. The roses weren't from Dave; they were from Sloan. She didn't want to read what he had written but her eyes followed the words. He loved her and hoped she enjoyed the small token of that. He wanted to give her so much more if only she would come back home. He could never begin to say how sorry he was and would give everything in his power to show her.

Orianne crushed the card in her fist and then smoothed it back out to rip it to shreds. Picking up her cell phone, she strode out of the room before anyone said anything else and then dropped the pieces of paper in the nearest garbage can. She lied to Quinn, saying she left her purse in the car, and asked for the keys to get in. Slamming the door to the vehicle closed, she dialed Sloan's number.

"That was one fine display of affection," she angrily stated when he answered the phone.

"I meant it as an apology and a gesture of love," he honestly replied.

"It was humiliating. Everyone thought they were from Dave."

"And you told them differently?"

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she scoffed. "Listen to me. Don't you dare _ever _send me anything to one of the arenas again. You got that?"

"Yeah," he replied in a defeated tone. "I'm sorry, Ori."

"You are only making this harder on yourself. Call me when you've signed the papers." She had no more words for him. Actually, she did but she couldn't say them for the anger clouding her mind. They would come out a jumbled disaster and she would only get more frustrated.

She sat in the car for a few more minutes to give herself some time to cool off before going back in. Hopefully, the red in her cheeks and neck would dissipate to the point where no one would notice. The arenas were so cold that she always carried a jacket. So, she hitched the collar higher and slipped out of the car to head back inside. Upon her entering the dressing room, Lita announced, "Dave's looking for you."

Orianne nodded her thanks and stepped out to see Dave heading back that way. "I sent you flowers?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

She glanced around but there was no one within earshot. Still, she whispered, "Sloan sent them and I didn't look at the card. I thought they were from you."

"I take it you called him," Dave stated, putting a warm hand to her pink neck.

"Yeah and I told him exactly what I thought."

"Don't let him get you upset," he said, leaning in to softly kiss her. "Think about how we're going to be flying into Stamford Tuesday morning and, then by Wednesday, you'll be all moved in with me."

Her eyes closed with the thought as he inched closer to where there was no more space between their bodies. "All better," she replied with soft smile.

"I'll see you after the show," he said and barely brushed her lips with his. She had to hold back the shiver that coursed throughout her body as he stepped away.

"Would you mind pretending that the flowers are from you if anybody says anything?" He paused for a moment and then nodded. "I think I'm going to give them to the girls. I'll tell them that I can't carry the bouquet on the plane and you said you didn't mind."

Orianne pushed the lockerroom door open with a sigh and checked her watch to see how much time she had—just enough to get rid of the flowers. With a half dozen left, she carried them to the ring under her jacket and gave them to Cedarius, telling him that he should just pretend that he picked them up for Cara, no questions asked. "What would it hurt?" she asked and he shrugged his shoulders and took them from her. Orianne smiled as she watched Cara's face light up when her fiancé presented her with the bouquet. Within seconds, the tech was descending on the black-haired woman to show her what Cedarius had gotten her.

* * *

The next week was so busy that Dave regretted the idea of having a cook-out with his family to welcome Orianne to DC. The two had barely made it in before dark on Wednesday night and they dropped into bed. True to her word, Orianne had packed up most of her belongings last week. Everything she had brought to Stamford initially fit in the Metro. Given the size of the Escape and the cargo hold on the top, they fit everything in, including what she had acquired in the past year. Because the apartment had been furnished, it was mostly her clothing, photography equipment, DVDs, and random odds and ends. Derek met them at the townhouse and helped carry everything in. Orianne had them pile it all in the guest bedroom and she would sort it out another time. Only her cameras had to be safely put away before she could sleep.

"How did the pictures turn out with the new camera?" Dave asked, massaging her shoulders as she arranged the shelved storage bin.

"I'm not happy with them for the ridiculous amount of money I spent on the camera. Practically wiped out almost three weeks worth of salary." Dave kept his comments to himself, already unsuccessfully having tried to buy the camera for her. "I don't quite have the hang of the software and Cedarius had to walk me through it over the phone. I want to say it'll come as I get used to it but maybe I want it to fail because I hate it." She closed the bin doors and refrained from locking them—it wasn't like she was in some apartment complex with a thousand people she didn't know. Since Dave had bought the townhouse, she had slowly gotten to know their neighbors and she was on a first name basis with half of the street. No one here cared about her divorce or whether or not she and Dave had an affair. They hardly cared that Dave was a wrestler for WWE.

As much as Dave wanted to make love to Orianne on her first "official" night at her new address, he was exhausted and could see with the way she walked what a number the past few days had done on her leg.

Nothing stopped him the next night. The day had been long and once the food had been grilled, the two of them had been able to finally relax. His family acted as if they knew nothing of the affair around Orianne. Only his sister bothered to voice her opinion but only to him.

Dana, who had grown up as the perfect child, said the same thing their mother had after cornering Dave in a closet. "We told you," she hissed.

"It's in the past," he angrily whispered. "Let—it—go."

"I can't believe you would do this to our family."

"Well, yeah, I did, now didn't I? It can't be changed and we're hurting no one," he replied, glaring down at her.

Dana was never intimidated by his size and she thrust her chin out. "If she hurts you because any of this isn't settled, I swear to God—"

"You swear what?" Dave seethed, grabbing her by the arm and drawing her close. "You hurt her, you hurt me." He immediately released her and stormed out of the closet.

Derek just laughed, thinking with his _other_ brain. He swore he wouldn't have laughed about the affair itself but that it was too humorous to know Dave had been banging the photographer chick all along, even at Christmas, and Derek hadn't figured it out. Reading people was something that he prided himself upon.

There was something about being in the presence of others that heightened their desire to be with one another. When Dave and Orianne were hiding the affair, it was like foreplay, thinking about what they would do once in the secret confines of the hotel room. Now, it seemed that the little touches between them were little reminders of that passion they shared.

As soon as the Batista family had left, the two couldn't move fast enough as Dave chased Orianne up the stairs. He caught her at the top step, searing her with a kiss. They peeled off each other's clothing as they went, working their way down the hall and into the bedroom. She honestly thought that if he stopped in the hallway to take her, it wouldn't be soon enough.

Tripping over his shorts that she had previously tossed, not knowing that they were in the way, Dave scooped her up and strode for the bed, tossing her into the center. She giggled as she hit it with a bounce but his predatory smile froze her in place as she rose to her knees. He pushed her hair over her shoulders and branded her lips with his mouth, his hands starting at her shoulders and running down her arms, hips, and thighs. Orianne leaned into him, her fingers seeking the hot flesh of his broad chest.

Trailing kisses along her collarbone and shoulder, Dave edged around her to situate himself behind her. She could feel his hard length pressing into her lower back and she reached behind her to grip his thighs, feeling his muscles grow taut as he inched her to the foot of the sleigh bed. Her body fit perfectly over the curved wood and he lifted her hips to meet his and entered her from behind, one hand splayed across her stomach and the other hand seeking her sensitive nub within her folds. She let out a low moan, leaning backward into him, and her sweaty palms trying to find a hold on the slick footboard. His thrusts were so fervent that, at his mercy, she could only curl her fingers underneath the curve and clench her muscles around him. He groaned in her ear and gripped her tighter, driving hard into her. She could only whimper his name in an effort to plead for release from the sweet torture. The intense heat building up in her core exploded and she limply sagged against Dave as he momentarily followed. They fell back on the bed, their rough breathing beginning to slow.

Right before Dave finally fell asleep with his naked body curled around hers, he fully didn't expect to wake up again until in the morning from the pure sexual satiation and exhaustion. So, he was surprised to find himself suddenly jerking awake to an empty bed at three in the morning. He could see the soft glow of the lights on downstairs and guessed that was where Orianne was at. Slipping on a pair of shorts, he quietly made his way down in case she had fallen asleep on the couch or something to that effect. But at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear her softly curse, then something metal hit the floor, and the water faucet begin running. Dave hurried into the kitchen to see her holding a finger to her mouth and wet paper towels stained pink in other hand.

"What are you doing?" he softly asked, removing the finger from her mouth to inspect it.

"I couldn't sleep."

"You should have gotten me up. We'd done something together or I'd find a way to wear you out," he responded, no insinuation in his tone, as he took her hand to look over the minor cut.

"I didn't want to bother you."

"You should when something is bothering you. What is it?" Dave asked but she shrugged and withdrew her hand from his to dry her finger and look for the band-aids that she now kept in her supplies for working on the frame. "My family?"

"No, mine. They aren't exactly going to be as accepting as yours. Well, everybody will be but my mom."

"That doesn't matter to me," he replied, picking up one leg of the frame that she had already completed. "If it bothered me what people thought about me, I wouldn't be in wrestling."

"I'm going to tell them soon," she stated, settling at the table and packing up her tools and the pieces of the frame. No one else knew besides Olivia and Sloan, who hadn't said a word about her confession to him…or else her family was pretending that they didn't know. She kept that to herself, wanting to ease her family into the divorce and her new relationship. Since Sloan wasn't being so cooperative, she had to tell them eventually but just didn't want to hear what her mother had to say. "Everyone's in Texas for rodeo competition for the rest of this week and the next. Even Mom and Dad went this time."

"And when are you telling Sloan you've moved in?" he asked, handing the side of the frame that he had been inspecting to her to put away.

"I'll call him next week."

Dave nodded and then said, "So where do you want to hang that when you're done?"

"I have to decide what goes in it first."

"I can see why you decided to restore it. I'm impressed with the work."

"I can't believe it stayed in our attic for so long and no one took care of it," she replied, caressing one of the corner flowers. "It deserves to be taken out, admired, and loved. Let me wash my hands and I'll come back to bed."

Working on the frame had been successful in tiring her mind until they started talking about what had been bothering her in the first place. Despite the fact that her back rested on Dave's broad chest and his arm was draped over her waist, she still couldn't fall asleep. She wasn't doubting or regretting her decisions. Her only regret was that her marriage couldn't have ended before she met Dave.

After the flowers last weekend and moving in with Dave, she was going to have to call Sloan. Putting it off any longer was going to drive her to drink. It wasn't worth the stress to do it during the weekend but Friday afternoon found her on her cellphone, doing her best not to pop a vein in her forehead.

In the past, Dave made a point to arrive at the hotel before her to check in to his room. She would then call him and come directly to the room, never checking in to hers. Because wrestlers had a tendency to stay with local friends on a whim or not even check into their own rooms, the company wasn't charged for unused rooms and no one reported which of those they were. Orianne let her own room go, hardly worried about getting in trouble. Since they were both coming out of DC together, they were on the same flight and rode together to the hotel.

The concierge asked for Orianne's name, assuming that she was listed on the room as well. "I have a package for you," the man said and disappeared into the office to come back with huge bouquet of red tulips, which were several months out of season. With a glance towards Dave, she knew that he had not sent them.

"Thank you," she muttered and wrapped an arm around the vase. Dave said nothing as they headed to the elevator but she could see his jaw clenching. "Hold them for me, please," she asked once in the car and then plucked the card from the flowers, glancing over it—they were definitely from Sloan.

In the hotel room, she situated the vase on the bureau and immediately whipped out her cellphone. "I thought I made myself clear," Orianne seethed as soon as he answered the phone.

"You said to not send them to the arena," Sloan honestly replied.

"Why would I want them sent to the hotel when I expressly didn't want them sent to arena? You are making this worse," she bit out.

"Ori, I won't stop showing that I love you in the little ways that I can," he softly said to counter her tone.

"You are only making me angry. You have to stop this."

"Come back home," he pleased.

"Not on your life. Sloan, I moved in with Dave this past week. I _am _home." She could hear his distressed sigh and her breath caught in her throat. She still loved him enough for him not to want to be hurt any more than necessary but he was doing this to himself. "Just," she sighed, "just sign the papers and let's get on with our lives."

"I don't want to get on with my life."

"Do whatever you want but let me get on with mine," she ground out, clapped the phone shut, and threw it at the bed. "He's driving me crazy," she shouted.

Dave had made himself scarce, choosing to stay in the bathroom and listen to her end of the conversation. "Let it go," he comforted, pulling her in for a hug and running a soothing hand down her temple. "He's not worth it. You want me to go beat him up?"

Orianne knew he was joking and couldn't help but chuckle. "It would be interesting to see the two of you in a fight—the soldier versus the wrestler."

"Are you doubting your man?"

"No," she coolly smiled, "just musing."

"How 'bout the wrestler," he began and then picked her up and tossed her on the bed, "versus the photographer in a tickling match?"

"Don't, don't, don't," she screamed, twisting around under him. Forget Chinese water torture, the Iron Maiden, the Rack, she would give it all up if someone tickled her.

"Alright," he said with a pout, satisfied that he had turned her mood around. His, however, hadn't changed. He was seething inside, pissed at Sloan for a thousand reasons. The man lost his wife and he needed to realize that. If Dave could, he would threaten Sloan to make him sign the papers and stop dragging her along. This shit with the flowers needed to stop because it was making her angry and stressing her out. But if he said one word to Sloan and it got back to Orianne, he would be in the doghouse. He'd hold back for a while and see if he got the message from this last "conversation." What exactly he would do, he had no idea. He may have outweighed Sloan by ninety or a hundred pounds but her hopefully soon-to-be ex-husband was probably trained to kill a man just as many ways with his bare hands. Hell, he could probably do it with his ankles alone.

TBC…


	12. Like a Soap Opera

**_Chapter XII: Like a Soap Opera _**

Orianne flipped through the pictures of models taken by the local formal clothing shop and cringed. They really should have employed someone who knew what they were doing to highlight their clothing. When she heard Dave clear his throat, she turned around and lost the ability to breathe. She knew before he tried on the tuxedo for Derek's wedding that he was going to look gorgeous but there was a difference between imagining it and seeing it.

"So?"

"Uh-huh," she squeaked, her eyes feasting on his broad shoulders in the black suit jacket that tapered to his slender waist. The pants may have been loose but they couldn't hide the thighs beneath them. The white English collar highlighted his jaw and stood out against his dark skin. His eyes were just as dark as the black tux. Derek couldn't have picked a better style to complement his older brother, although it was completely unintentional.

Dave smirked as he watched her eyes cloud over. With an arrogant tilt of his head, he silently turned to the clothier. "This will do fine."

"Excellent, Mr. Batista," the man replied and gestured for the wrestler to return to the dressing room and change.

Dave signed for the tuxedo and waited for it to be tucked away in the garment bag while Orianne stood a couple of feet away, bashfully eyeing him. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked before the clothier returned with the bag. She looked away like she had been caught and shook her head.

"How long do you get to keep the tux?" she shyly asked once in the car.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he asked with that damn sexy smirk.

"Uh-huh," she lasciviously replied and he chuckled.

"We still have tonight and Friday night. I have to leave it with Gil to return on Monday for me," he apologetically added. "Problem is, it's got to stay clean until the wedding." Seeing her squirm in the seat was worth the comment.

Orianne had the same visceral reaction when Dave stepped out of the back of the chapel with his brother to stand beside him as the best man. Any other woman would have been enjoying the display of man flesh between the two. Derek was maybe an inch or two shorter than Dave and more slender. He had the build of someone like Randy Orton but sported the same dark Greek and Filipino features as his older brother. But Orianne could only see Dave.

The photographer knew she had to be on her best behavior at the first official Batista family function and second time in two days meeting Monica's family. It was almost impossible to keep her hands off of him during the reception and he was mercilessly teasing her. It didn't help for him that she was wearing a strapless azure blue gown the same color as her eyes.

Dave performed his duties as best man flawlessly but, as soon as the dance floor was open, he pulled Orianne to him, finally allowed to press his body against hers. She didn't argue as they swayed in a circle like high school students. "How long do we have to stay?" she jokingly whined, running her fingers around his collar.

"If it wasn't my brother's wedding, we'd been out of here the second they said, 'I do.'" She chuckled in response and ran the tip of her finger over his ear. "As soon as they leave, I say we get out of here," he whispered conspiratorially.

"I'll try to wait," she suggestively replied.

Dave was finally pried away from Orianne so his father could have a dance with her. While Hector twirled her around the dance floor, Dave took the opportunity to dance with Monica. "So, when are we going to be dancing at your wedding?" she asked. The wrestler laughed at his new sister-in-law but didn't reply. "You'd think the two of you are the newlyweds."

He knew that Monica was aware of the affair and replied, "Now that I can show the world that I love her, I can't stop myself. I know she's her own person, feminism, equality, blah-de-blah, but I can't help but revert to the Dark Ages and want to let everybody know she's _mine_."

"Well, as long as you realize that she's the one who actually runs the relationship, then I don't see what's so wrong with that. I've got Derek wrapped around my little finger," she said with a toothy smile and then looked over her shoulder for her new husband. "Oh, no, he's dancing with Orianne. You might want to go save her."

"Thanks, _sis_," he replied with a crooked grin and kissed her on the cheek before going to rescue his girlfriend.

Derek and Monica had more on their minds than dancing at their reception. So, when they felt they had stayed for the appropriate amount of time, the two were running through an alley of bubbles blown by their guests. "I know what they're about to be doing," Dave whispered against Orianne's ear and she had to bite down hard to keep from bodily shivering. "You wanna go do that too?"

Orianne still couldn't help but shyly glance at him on the way home. What the hell was it about that tuxedo? With that ever-present smirk on his face, she wanted to devour him. Before the woman could shut the townhouse door behind her, Dave pulled her roughly to him, his lips on hers. She feebly tossed her wrap towards the coat closet and her purse at the foyer table. The items landed several feet away but neither noticed. "God, I want you," she muttered against him.

"Tell me you're not going to act all shy now," he replied, planting kisses down her neck and hiking her dress up her thigh.

"Upstairs, now," she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied against her collarbone and then slipped his arm underneath her knees to pick her up.

In the bedroom, he gently lowered her to her feet, his mouth never leaving hers. She kicked her sandals under the bed as his fingers unzipped the back of her dress and he leaned back enough to let it flutter to the floor. Running his tongue along her jaw, he inched her slip over her breasts and it too floated to the floor. With a quick pop, her bra fell between them and she pressed herself against him. The tuxedo was rough against her skin as he walked backwards to the bed to lower her down.

Orianne stopped him before he pushed her back and she stepped away. "Don't move," she said and then began to circle him. She ran her hands over his chest, across his thighs, and then trailed around him, slowly sweeping down his back and then underneath the jacket tails to caress his butt. Coming back around in front of him, Dave reached out to her breasts, his thumbs circling the nipples. Swallowing hard, she grasped his wrists to pull his hands away and then thread her fingers through his.

Running her eyes up and down his body, she licked her lips. "I'm trying to decide what to do with you. I could just put you on the mantle and look at you all day long but what's the fun in that?" He chuckled and she released his hands to grasp the lapels of his jacket. "I bet that tux is uncomfortable."

"Slightly," he replied, slipping his fingers into the sides of her panties and pushing down before she could stop him. She obliged and stepped out of them.

Trailing her hands down his chest, she sighed. "I guess you could take it off." He reached for the buttons on the jacket but she wrapped her fingers over his. "I think it needs to come off piece by piece…slowly."

With no inhibition, she lay across the bed and then gestured for Dave to begin. With a crooked grin, he shook his head and then slipped off his shoes and socks. Then he began to unbutton the tux jacket, a predatory stare fixed on Orianne. He tossed the jacket at her and she caught it, inhaled his cologne on the collar, and dropped it over the side of the bed. He then undid the buttons on the black and silver vest and slipped it off his shoulders. Orianne drew a finger in her mouth and began nibbling at the nail as he undid the cufflinks and untucked the shirt. His eyes never left hers as he worked through each of the buttons.

When his sculpted chest was visible, she could no longer lie still and shot up from the bed to push the shirt from his shoulders, trailing her hot lips down his chest to his waist. She unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down along with blue briefs. She hadn't seen him put them on this morning and chuckled against the juncture of his thigh and hip. He ran his hands into the curls that were pinned high on her head as she ran the tip of her tongue along his hip bone. She hovered above his length and then blew lightly across. A grin appeared on her lips at the moan she elicited. He involuntarily jerked and she laughed as her mouth closed over him. The vibration of her laugh tickled him and he almost lost his footing.

While her hot mouth on his manhood was sinfully sweet, he had wanted her all day, to the point of where he had almost forgotten the rings, missed his cue to recess with the maid of honor, had forgotten his speech for the reception and had to wing it, and then almost forgot to acquire the keys to Monica's and Derek's getaway car to 'decorate' it. He wanted to feel her envelope him completely and couldn't wait a moment longer. Drawing her up to her feet, he laid her across the bed and trailed his fingers up her thigh to her center, finding her ready. He swore to himself he would be gentle and teased her, sliding in only half way. With her breathless pleas, he no longer held back. She gasped as he pushed in his entire length and paused, thinking he had hurt her. When she wrapped her legs tight around his back, he lost control and drove harder. The intensity was too much and all too soon, she cried out in climax. Her muscles spasming around him pushed him over the edge and he collapsed beside her.

"That tux," she breathed hard against his chest, "was worth…every dime." He echoed his agreement and then softly kissed the tip of her nose before pulling her close. "Did you set the alarm for tomorrow?"

He couldn't believe she could even think at this juncture but was grateful it crossed her mind. While they both had finagled Friday night off and the company already had Saturday free because of tomorrow's Great American Bash, the two had to pack and be on an early flight to St. Louis in time for interbrand pay-per-view. "Uh-uh," he replied and reluctantly extracted himself to set the alarm clock. Exhausted, he fell against the pillows and beckoned Orianne to him.

* * *

Even though they had been living together for only two weeks, it felt so odd for Orianne to be flying to Alabama rather than DC. Dave had offered to come with her but it would only make telling her parents worse. She also assumed that if her mother knew she was coming, then Sloan knew as well. She wanted to keep her soon-to-be ex and her lover as far away from each other as possible.

Orrin didn't leave the farm enough and used picking Orianne up as an excuse to get away. He and his twin sister were inseparable as children until her accident. He didn't know what to do with her then as she was confined to a wheelchair and the house. When she started riding again, they had grown close once more but had different interests by then, leaving somewhat of a gap. They both went to UAB together even though they were in different programs but still weren't too far away from each other. When Orianne married, the gap between them widened further and they worked hard at being close. When she began her affair with Batista, they were as distant as when she had her accident. Now, they seemed to be once again acting like the twins they were, which made it all the more difficult for Orianne to tell Orrin that she was back with Dave.

On the drive back home, she casually asked if Sloan had been around. "He's permanently in Birmingham," Orrin replied, glancing over at her with a look as if she should have known.

"Sloan and I aren't exactly talking," she offered.

"So you don't know what he's doing now either?" he asked with another glance in her direction.

"Uh, no," she answered, twisting in the seat to look at him.

"He's working with that software company, uh, uh, what is it?" Orrin asked, snapping his fingers repeatedly.

"Woodward and Morgan?" she supplied.

"That's it," he replied, pointing at her. Orianne nodded in thought. Sloan had talked about working for them when they were attempting to reconcile. "Anyhow—he didn't tell you any of this?"

"We've really not been talking," she reluctantly answered.

"He started there probably four, five weeks after you kicked him out. He's been back and forth to the house on occasion, moving his stuff to his apartment there little by little."

"He here today?"

"What do you think?" he asked, cocking his head sideways.

"Thanks for being honest this time," she replied with a snort.

Orrin shook his head and chuckled. "Sorry about that but Mom would have had my hide if I had said anything."

"It's okay," she replied but then they lapsed into silence. She had been trying to find a way to tell him about Dave for the entire conversation. Despite the tingling in her feet and legs and the fluttering in her stomach, she bit the bullet and asked, "Orr, are you expecting me and Sloan to get back together?"

"It'd be nice but I don't expect it," he honestly replied.

"Dave and I are dating now."

"Cool," he replied nonchalantly.

"We moved in together," Orianne added, pushing her luck.

"And you didn't tell me?"

She looked down at her hands in shame. "I… well…"

"Spit it out, Ori.

"You were so mad at me about the affair that I was…"

"Afraid to tell me," he finished for her. She nodded and Orrin suddenly pulled over on the shoulder of the road. "Orianne," he sternly stated, "No matter what it is, you have no reason to be afraid of me, do you hear me?" When she didn't respond, he asked again. "D'you hear me?"

"Yes," she sighed.

"You deserve to be happy. If you can't find that with Sloan but you can with Dave, it's fine by me. You can tell me anything and you know that. I'm your brother, _twin _brother, we're supposed to be close, read each other's mind, and shit like that." He smiled at the last statement but she didn't catch on.

"I'm sorry."

"And you can quit apologizing," he replied, putting the truck back in drive. "You telling Mom and Dad this week?"

"Yeah," she dolefully replied.

"You want me there?" he offered, knowing that things went better for her with their mother when he was around.

"Please."

Orrin carried her luggage into the guesthouse while she headed on in to see the rest of her family. Sloan and Carter were sitting on the couch talking and her husband rose at her entrance. "Orianne," he softly said. "How was your flight?"

She refrained from replying, 'None of your damn business, you son of a bitch.' Just because he was there didn't give her a right to say such things or be so angry. Instead, she replied, "Fine. Hey, Daddy." Her father struggled up and then embraced her. As if on cue, Marian appeared with a pitcher of tea and glasses.

"Orianne, you made it in time for supper," she replied. "I'm so glad that you and Sloan could both be here." Her mother passed off a glass of tea to everyone and poured one for her youngest daughter.

In minutes, Olivia bounced down the stairs, her hair still wet from a shower. She looked awkwardly at Sloan and then at Orianne and apologetically shrugged at her sister the second their mother turned away.

Orianne could read the smug smile on Marian's face throughout dinner. It was as if nothing had changed before Sloan's last assignment. Her mother was trying to send her vibes that said, 'See, it _can_ be alright.'

After dinner, Marian shooed Orrin and Olivia away in that suave manipulative way and Orianne found herself alone on the verandah with Sloan. She knew her mother had gotten hold of her brother because he drifted by with a cold beer to hand her and disappeared into the barn for one last check before going in the backdoor of the house.

"Can we talk now or are you going to run away?" her husband asked, no malice or accusation in his voice.

"Sloan," she replied, turning in her chair. "You can talk to me 'til the cows come home and pigs fly. You're not going to change my mind."

"I have to try."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to let you go," he nostalgically replied.

"I've let you go, Sloan. I've moved on. Stop torturing me and sign the papers." She started to rise from her seat but then recalled his accusation about her running away.

"I'm not ready for this to be over. Tell me what it is that you need me to say, to do, and I'll do it," he pleaded.

"It's too late. Sloan, you've got two weeks to sign those papers or I take you court." This time she did stand up. "So you know, I'm not running away. I don't want to have a fight on my momma's porch. I'm tired, my leg hurts, I have a headache. I'm going to bed."

When she rose that morning, Sloan was gone. She didn't know if he stayed in the main house or if he went back to Birmingham and she didn't care. She slept past breakfast and, unfortunately, there was nothing in the guesthouse to eat. It wasn't long before her mother would be serving the staff lunch and Orianne dressed and went to help her.

Despite the heat and humidity, the guys were gathering around the picnic tables under the great oak as Orianne carried out the first of the dishes. Heading back in, Marian stopped her and smiled. "Yesterday was nice, wasn't it? Maybe you should call Sloan and have him come back tonight."

Orianne accepted the plate of biscuits her mother handed her but didn't turn around to leave. "No, Mom. I won't be calling Sloan. I'm living with Dave now."

"What?" Marian weakly asked.

"Dave and I are together now and we live together in DC. I'll write down my new address for you." Her daughter didn't wait for an answer and headed out of the house. She set the plate down among the workers and leaned in to whisper to Orrin. "I told her. I didn't mean to but it just popped out."

"How'd she take it?" he whispered back.

"I don't know. I walked off."

Orrin saw his mother descend the steps with a jug of iced tea and Orianne followed his eyes. "Oh, she's not going to be talking to you for a while," he responded.

Marian had assumed her cool Southern belle demeanor. The twins could read the iciness in her blue eyes and turned away. "Oh, yeah, I'm in for a long period of silence," Orianne concurred.

No one else but possibly Deacon caught on to Marian's manner, it was such a good performance. Carter knew without a moment's hesitation as he sat down to the table after running late from a morning meeting with their accountant. Olivia had tagged along with him but the poor girl was too busy making eyes at the newest hire, Joel Trent, a friend of Orrin's from college that she hadn't met until he was brought on last week. Orianne's brother rescued her from having to clean up lunch with their mother by immediately introducing them after the meal. Instead, Carter and Olivia helped clear up.

With nothing but the afternoon and a chilly dinner ahead of her, Orianne trudged off to the guesthouse. She was going to attempt to sift through her belongings to see what she wanted shipped to DC. It was a sad affair as there honestly was little because of her past life style. She wasn't bothered by her 'lack.' She had all her music on her computer—she didn't even own an MP3 player. Growing up on the sounds of nature, she had been content to listen to life around her. What few movies she chose to own as an adult were already at Dave's. What photo albums were in the guesthouse could stay. Those were more her private ones detailing life "abroad" with Sloan—yes, they _should _stay. She wanted her books, especially her ones on photography, and the rest of her clothes. She had chosen to take about half of them with her when she moved to Stamford because it was what fit in the Metro and she was traveling so much for the WWE. Now that she had a freezing winter in DC to anticipate, she might as well send her heavier clothes although the season was several months away.

Orrin had boxes already taped and ready to be packed for her and she began dropping in books. Between the air conditioning and the dull thuds of the books, she didn't hear her father enter until he shut the door. "Hey, Dad," she said, wiping the dust off her hands.

"When I suggested you try to get along with your mother, baby girl, that was not what I had in mind," he said with a chuckle.

"So you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be?"

"Well, I didn't tell you that Dave and I were seeing each other," she said as her father settled on one end of the sofa. "So the divorce is going forward but I'm still married and living with another man."

"You sound like your mother's soap operas."

"I _feel _like a soap opera," she replied, dropping to the couch.

"I know that your marriage is over and I don't care if you've already found someone else. Given your relationship with Dave, I'm not surprised. Maybe you shouldn't have moved in together until the divorce was final but I also know Sloan is being an ass about this. I wish you weren't so afraid of me that you can't tell me these things." She hated disappointing her father and she dropped her eyes, murmuring an apology. "You know," Carter began, "the Birmingham Barons have a day game tomorrow. You wanna drive out and watch some baseball? Just the two of us."

"I would love to," she relied, propelling herself into her father's arms like a child. At least all was finally right between the two of them.

TBC…


	13. Half of the Pantheon

_**Chapter XIII: Half of the Pantheon**_

With Orianne out of town, Batista finally had the time to do something he had been wanting to for two weeks—tell Gabrielle Dean Edwards exactly what he thought of her. He wasn't going to lie and say he didn't enjoy hearing about Orianne insulting Gabrielle but, given that his ex-girlfriend had sent Kyle to the gym and told his parents about the affair, he was wishing the photographer hadn't said a word. However, the more he thought about it, maybe it was worth it. When the anger finally subsided, he realized he had taken too much pleasure in throwing Kyle out of his gym. He was afraid he was going to enjoy this a little bit too much as well.

Seeing Gabrielle's corvette with the top down in the driveway, he knew that she was home. Knowing her bad habit of answering the door without first seeing who was there, he marched straight up the walk to her door and knocked, wondering if she intentionally had Kyle move in with her when they got married just so she could throw him out when she tired of him as well.

"What?" the blonde demanded when she realized who was standing on her verandah. "Come to insult me too?"

"It's not an insult if it's the truth," he countered.

She folded her arms across her chest, standing on the threshold, and asked, "What do you want?"

"Stay out of my life."

"She insulted me first," the blonde petulantly replied.

"Did Orianne say one word that wasn't true?" Dave snidely asked with raised eyebrows.

Gabrielle was about to make a retort but then clamped her mouth shut. "That's not the point."

"Did you get the job?"

The blonde arrogantly lifted her head and superciliously replied, "Yes."

"So, tell me how much of that was true that you said about me in that little meeting?" he casually asked, leaning up against one of the porch's posts.

"Why does it matter? I meant nothing to you. You were off playing wrestler and left me home alone."

"You got lonely?" Dave asked with a laugh. "That's why you slept with Kyle?" She turned her nose up and looked down at him. "You didn't think I was lonely at all? Every time you went to Paris or Milan for weeks at a time? I don't want to hear it, Gaby. You did me wrong and you know it. You cheated on me and got pregnant. You don't have a leg to stand on. So, try staying out of my life now. Keep Kyle to yourself."

"You aren't the saint you make yourself out to be," she angrily replied, his cool demeanor irritating her. "Forget the affair with that woman. You claimed you loved me but you didn't. You didn't even take an interest in anything—"

"I was your personal Ken doll. How much more interested do you want me?" He wasn't going to lie; Gabrielle was responsible for the sense of fashion that he exhibited now.

"I wanted you interested in Gabrielle the woman and not Gabrielle the model," she whined but he was now immune to her ploys.

"When that's all you go on about, what do you expect?" he asked but, before she could answer, he continued, "Stop, just stop with this arguing. It's been over a year and there's no point in fighting about it now. You obviously made your choice and I couldn't be happier about it."

"You came out here to tell me that?"

"No," he said, pushing off the post to stand up straight. "I came out here to tell you what I thought about you and to tell you to heel like the bitch you are but I realized something just now. I should be thanking you for kicking me out. I wouldn't have met the wonderful woman that I love, the woman that you can't even hold a candle to."

"That little mousy gimp?" she asked with a derisive laugh. Dave took a step forward and she backed up. "Get off my property before I call the cops."

"Words of warning. Leave me and Orianne alone, you and Kyle."

"Or what?" she spat.

"I didn't spread the gossip about you cheating on me or that you didn't even know who the father of your baby was until a paternity test. As far as I know, you didn't either. I still have contacts—don't make me spread the word," Dave warned, taking a step back and holding out his hands palms up.

"Oh, grow up. Nobody cares about that stuff in this day and age."

"Really, Gaby?" Dave asked, cocking his head sideways. "Then why did you keep that to yourself and why did you feel you had to start telling people about my affair with Orianne? Hmm? _You _care and that's all that matters."

"Leave now or I _will _call the police."

"My pleasure," he replied with a smirk and headed down the walk to his car.

* * *

With the European tour coming up in two weeks, everybody could feel the buzz of anticipation. It was a grueling schedule but worth the excitement of going overseas and meeting their fans abroad. Orianne was no stranger to traveling to foreign countries but the locations were limited to mainly Sloan's assignments. She had been to Germany but not Italy or Great Britain. There would be little time for sightseeing but Dave promised he would get her out for some touring.

"But what are you going to wear to swim in?" he asked as she fastened her bra to get dressed after they had been lying in bed discussing the trip.

"I don't swim," she replied, flipping her suitcase open and perusing her options for her brunch with Cara. Today was an intervention meal to calm the bride down two weeks before the wedding.

"You can't go to Italy and not swim in the Mediterranean," he replied as if that was something she should already know.

"I can and I will," Orianne replied, shaking out a pair of jeans.

"I will haul your ass down to the beach and throw you in fully clothed. It's your option."

"Dave," she turned around, still in just her underwear. "I look like the bride of Frankenstein."

"You know, if we put a white streak in your hair, that'd actually work," he facetiously commented, wrapping his arms around her. In case she balked, he already had a plan of attack. He honestly didn't care for the world of women's fashion and modeling before, during, and especially after dating Gabrielle, but he had faked interest for her at the time and accidentally picked up a thing or two. "Let me guess. You have a problem with this scar," he said seductively, turning her towards the mirror and running a finger up the one at the top of her thigh and disappeared under panties. "And these," he added in a whisper against her ear, tracing two fingers over the ones at the top of her hip.

"Why don't you point them out and make me more self-conscious," she huffed, trying to push away from him.

"Wait," he said, refusing to release his hold on her. "I have a point. First, am I right?"

"Yes," she sighed.

"Then, we get one of those cute two pieces with shorts and the bikini top."

"Alright, genius, you said it yourself. There—"

"Uh, uh, uh," he replied, wagging his finger. "Have you thought about getting another tattoo? This one will be taken care of with the shorts…" He slipped his fingers underneath the hem of her panties. "And these we'll take care of with the tattoo." When she didn't reply, he knew it had crossed her mind or else she was contemplating getting back in bed with him. "How 'bout my face right here?" he asked and twisted her around to blow a raspberry on her hip.

Orianne gurgled out a laugh and managed to barely slip her hands between his mouth and her skin. "Stop it," she giggled.

Dave chuckled with her and then sat down on the bed, pulling her into his lap. "Seriously, what d'you think?"

"I suppose so. But not one of your face," she replied with a smile. "If you had the idea, I'm sure you've got suggestions."

"I didn't want to influence you the way I did with the last one. I thought I'd take you to see Frazer again and maybe he'd have something you like if you couldn't come up with anything."

"But we'd have to do it this week for it to heal in time for the tour."

"Yeah," he replied with an apologetic tone.

"I cannot believe the things I let you talk me into," Orianne replied with a roll of her eyes. "This also means that _you _have to go shopping with me to find a bathing suit."

"Backed myself into that corner, didn't I?" Dave resigned.

"Yep," she smugly answered and slipped off his lap. "I'm going to be late if you don't stop coming up with crazy ideas or trying to seduce me with that whole panty thing." Still completely naked, Dave lay back across the bed and held his hands out as if to say, 'And what do you want me to do about that?' She blew out a breath of exasperation. "Aren't you having lunch with Carlito today?"

"Yeah but I'd rather lunch on you."

"Shut up," she chided with smirk and then slipped her jeans on before he tried something else.

Orianne and Cara were having lunch at a little Italian bistro two blocks from the hotel. So, when the tech hadn't arrived yet, Ori went ahead and took a seat. She ordered drinks for both of them and then waited. Within a few moments, Cara flew in all in a rush. "It's not good. Oh, it's not good," the blonde poured out, immediately taking a drink from the water glass set in front of her and slamming the bridal planner on the table.

"Give us a few minutes," Orianne said to the server before he could request their order. "What's goin' on?"

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "I've lost a bridesmaid."

"What?"

"Molly has to go back to England. Her mother is really sick and she got a call that she could go any minute and she left on a plane an hour ago. I understand, I really do," Cara gushed out without taking a breath. "But now there's this huge hole in my bridesmaids and—and, well, I can only think of you to replace her."

"Huh? Who's going to cut your cake?" Orianne had not been offended when Cara didn't ask her to be one of her five bridesmaids. She and Cedarius had large families and she only knew her for a year. She was pleased that the tech even asked her to be one of her servers.

"Like that matters when I have to have another bridesmaid," Cara replied, her voice verging on hysteria.

"Have you called everyone in your family? Your college friends?" the dark-haired woman offered. It's not that she didn't want to be in Cara's wedding but she felt that family and long-time friends deserved that honor.

"No. I just don't have time for all that," she sighed, running her fingers into her hair and tugging at the locks to simulate how crazy the planning had been going.

"I would be honored to be one of your bridesmaids but check with your family first. Give me something to do for you next week. Let me call and make all your confirmations. Give me your bride's book." Cara handed it over and Orianne flipped it open. "Let's see what I can do." It might have been over eight years since her wedding but she would never forget all the planning that went into it. An hour later, the photographer had a list of tasks while Cara was ordered to calm down and find a new bridesmaid.

* * *

No matter what Dave did, said, or threatened, he couldn't coax Orianne out of the dressing room to show him her bathing suit choices. He hadn't minded coming with her as it was a way to spend time with her; but by the sixth store, he was getting frustrated twiddling his thumbs and waiting for her to disappointedly trudge out with the rejected swimsuits. When he heard another exasperated sigh, he glanced around the unisex changing room and, seeing no one, he slipped through the curtain as she started to tug the halter top over her head.

She let out a squeal but Dave muffled it, pulling her close and covering her mouth with his. She melted against him and then realized where they were. "Dave," she chided.

"I'm bored," he whined and rubbed his fingers across the undersides of her breasts where the halter top had snagged. "So I thought I'd make it interesting."

"We're in a dressing room," she replied, situating the top back in place.

"I know," he replied, nipping at her nose and then her lips.

"I do some crazy things because of you but this is _not _one of them," Orianne adamantly stated.

"Then, pick an outfit and let's get out of here." He stepped away from her, which put his back against the wall and left enough room for him to look her body up and down. "What's wrong with this one?"

"It's just…" she began and picked at the silver chain that dangled above the shorts and across her belly button from hip to hip.

"It's sexy as hell," he replied, fingering first the silver beads lining the halter top straps and then the chain. "It's going home with us or I'm going to figure out a way to make love to you in this dressing room and _everybody _is going to know what's going on in here."

"Fine," she huffed and then shrugged out of the suit with him still in the cubicle. For a moment, he thought she was actually going to test him but then she handed the clothing to him and gestured for him to go ahead and make the purchase.

By the time she was dressed, Dave was waiting at the cash register and lazily swinging the bag back and forth. He glanced at his watch as she approached. "Scott's not expecting us for another hour. Let's go grab a bite to eat and then head on over."

Standing in the tattoo parlor, Orianne felt no different as the first time. She knew what to expect and that actually made it worse. Sending Dave away to catch up with Scott Frazer, she flipped through book after endless book of choices. This was worse than choosing a bathing suit. Pulling another portfolio towards her, she randomly flipped it open and began turning pages. Maybe she should just put this off and wear the bathing suit anyhow…but she was kind of set on getting another tattoo. One more page and there it was. Both Scott and Dave turned towards her at the sound of glee.

"That's it," she said breathlessly, pointing at the red anemone. Greek and Roman mythology had been her passion since she was a child, she was dating a half Greek, she could claim that her sun and moon tattoos were for Diana and Helios, and she had found the frame with the anemones in her own attic. The tale of the anemones was about Aphrodite, the goddess of love, chasing after Adonis. Smiling at her own Adonis, she stated again, "I want that."

Despite having her jeans halfway down her hips, Orianne didn't find the process half as bad as last time. But that didn't mean she let go of her death grip on Dave's hand. If it got easier and easier each time, she was afraid she might look like Dave. She was already contemplating a couple of options for her lower back…like anybody but Dave would see it. He'd have her piercing her belly button and her nose if she didn't watch it but now that she thought about it…

TBC…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, I know I did the whole tattoo thing in the last one and I'm not too thrilled about the way this scene came off. The point of it all is that she's much more comfortable in her body, considering not even getting one and wearing the bathing suit anyhow. But her going through with it is to show that she's also more comfortable with who is she and that's a person who wants a tattoo and likes them. It's supposed to be an 'evolution of her character' moment but it just came across as repeating a scene from _Stillshot. _Sorry! 


	14. Public Displays of Affection

_**Chapter XIV: Public Displays of Affection**_

After three weeks of living together, Dave and Orianne had settled into a comfortable routine and had finally started leaving each other alone to get work done. When Dave headed out for an afternoon at the gym, she settled at the kitchen table to take care of the phonecalls and e-mails for Cara. While she was confirming the delivery of tables and chairs for the reception, the door bell rang. Whoever it was would go away, she thought, but then they started knocking. It wasn't incessant but a knock to be sure that, if the doorbell didn't work, they were heard. Finally, she ended the call and padded to the door to peek out the window. She gasped when she saw Sloan standing on the stoop. He was either here to try to change her mind again or give her the papers. Rather than take a chance by ignoring him, she pulled the door open despite the fact that she was in just a t-shirt to keep a waistband from irritating the new tattoo.

"Hey," he awkwardly greeted when she appeared.

"Come on in. Dave's not here in case you're wondering."

"I can say what I came to say from here."

"Well, I don't really want the neighborhood seeing me in just this," she replied, picking at the shirt. Sloan had definitely noticed what she was wearing and had hoped he didn't interrupt anything, although it would have been nice justice. He stepped inside and she shut the door behind him. "What can I do for you?"

"I've been working for Woodward and Morgan for a while now. I guess Orrin told you that," he nervously said. "They contract with the government for software and equipment and so forth. I, uh, well, they're sending over more hardware to Iraq in two weeks and they've asked me to oversee that."

"But they don't send that over with civilians, do they?" she replied with a furrowed brow. He looked away in response. "Sloan Patrick Anderson," she ground out, "you never retired, did you?"

"Yes and no. I was in the process when we split and the Air Force has been trying to talk me into staying because of the surge. I hung on to just do some recruiting on the weekends, something to fill my time. And now there's this request—"

"But it's not a request. You can't turn it down."

"Why does it matter to you? You don't care," he replied, the hurtful words tumbling out.

"It doesn't. But the fact that you lied to me all that time we were trying to make it work…" she trailed off.

"I wasn't lying. I was in the process," he angrily replied.

"Well, I can tell you this. You're crazy if you thought that staying on was going to get me back," Orianne responded in kind, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"I was supposed to throw away my career because you kicked me out?" he asked, holding his hands out for the answer. "If I couldn't change your mind, there's no way I would have let twenty-seven years of being in the Air Force go for nothing."

"You're right," she replied with a resigned air. "And I mean that. Why are you here?"

"I couldn't leave without seeing you one more time," he answered, his face softening.

"Sloan," she warned him.

"Please, Ori," he said, reaching out to cup her cheek. When she didn't slap his hand away, he leaned in to softly kiss her and then immediately stepped back. "I'll go now. I'll make a decision about the divorce papers before I leave. Just give me until then. You can take me to court when I get back after two weeks if I don't sign them."

Before she could say another word or argue with him, he turned to go and she didn't move as he let himself out. He had come all the way to DC to see her before he left or he had business here and just dropped in. Either way, he made an effort to come see her. "Whatever," she muttered to herself and twisted the lock back in place to return to her phone calls. The woman wanted to be mad at her husband for not retiring from the military but he had a point. Why should he now that they were through? The Air Force was his passion and it should stay that way. _Good for him_, she thought and settled back at the table, relieved that he agreed to make a decision before he left. But that didn't stop that familiar feeling of anxiety in the pit of her stomach about him leaving on an assignment.

Dave took the news that Sloan was there the same way but understood why. If he was about to throw himself into the same kind of danger while he was separating from his wife, he would have gone to her as well. Maybe this would spur him to sign the papers and let her go.

* * *

Cara and Cedarius had chosen the Saturday before the start of the European tour for their wedding because everyone would be off for the weekend before catching the first flight out to Germany. Because Cara was from Chicago, Illinois, and Cedarius from Fort Payne, Alabama, they aimed for a location sort of in between. They had found a little white church in the Smokey Mountains with a little old cemetery out back and a gorgeous view of the valley. It was an afternoon wedding, so only the bridal party was in tuxedos. Orianne hadn't cared when she first knew how informal it was but, having seen Dave in a tux, she wished otherwise. If he had worn one, she would have felt guilty from the incredible lust given the nature of the ceremony.

If there were any racial issues between the Whitfield and Cooper families, no one exhibited them. However, it was obvious that some of Cara's family wasn't quite as comfortable as they wanted to be when Cedarius' gospel heritage was celebrated. Orianne loved it and rose to her feet along with the rest of the church, clapping and joining in on the hymn. It was the religion of her childhood summers and, for a few moments, she believed in that God. Dave only smiled but rose with her, unfamiliar with the song. She was sure she would end up in a Greek Orthodox service one day. Derek and Monica had chosen a traditional Catholic wedding because she was Catholic. He didn't convert and they both promised to raise their children Catholic, although Monica had admitted to the Batistas that they would bring them up with both heritages in mind.

By the time Orianne and Dave tumbled into the bed in their hotel room, their cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. "I'm so tired already, I don't know how I'll make it the next two weeks," she said, sighing against him.

"The adrenaline will keep you going," he said, pulling her close. "We're not going to get much time together but I promise we'll get out and sightsee and I'll be thinking about you every second we're apart."

"You don't have to kiss up to me to get sex," she replied with a wink.

* * *

Dave wasn't lying about them not seeing much of each other but she expected that. As staff, she was on separate flights. To top it off, they also had roommates. Because they were practically in a different city each night, they were usually shipping out the next morning. Dave also had to attend several autograph signings and P.R. appearances.

While she would liked to have seen everything, there were only two places she _had _to visit in Italy: the Coliseum and the Pantheon. The Coliseum and the Forum was beyond amazing and she could only stare in wonder. The photographer went through two rolls of film alone on the location. She popped a couple of pain pills and she and Dave walked the streets of Rome to see the Spanish steps, Trevi fountain, and the other various squares on their way to the Pantheon and the Vatican. He had promised his new sister-in-law a rosary from St. Peter's and, while there, Orianne persuaded him to see the Sistine chapel.

Given her love of mythology, Rome was definitely the highlight of the trip but that wasn't to say that the few hours they spent swimming in the Mediterranean wasn't heavenly. Damn, she had the hottest man on the planet, she thought as he resurfaced from diving under the water to tickle her feet. She had screamed, thinking a fish had her, and flailed backward. "You and I are going to take a trip to Greece," he said, slogging through the water to pull her to him. "That swimsuit needs to get out more. I'll take you to see where my grandfather grew up and you can play to your heart's content in all those ancient cities and we'll spend our afternoons on the beach until we turn into prunes."

"I would love to but right now it feels like I need to get _out _of this swimsuit," she replied suggestively, her hand closing over his hardening length.

"Let's do it in the water. Nobody will know," he whispered.

"Yeah, right," she sarcastically replied, glancing around.

"C'mon," he replied, gently walking her into deeper water where it was covering half of her breasts.

"Why are you suddenly so horny in public? You've tried to get me in the dressing room, the storage closet, the bathroom of that _church_, the ocean…" She abruptly stopped as he lifted her up to press his hips against hers. "Maybe we could ta—"

"Incoming!" Water drenched the couple and both spluttered it out of their faces to see Carlito resurfacing, his frizzy hair looking as if it hadn't gotten wet. "Will the two a'you quit makin' out for like more than two minutes? We're goin' back to the hotel. We gotta be on the bus in an hour an' a half. Wanna ride?"

That was the last moment they shared like that for the rest of the trip. They managed a quick tour of the highlights of London, including a stop at the ruins of the Roman baths. It was in Birmingham, England—oh, the irony—that she finally got through to Josh Holcomb to ask if Sloan had given him the signed divorce papers before he left for overseas.

"I haven't seen Sloan since our first meeting," the lawyer replied.

"You're serious?" she asked, her jaw dropping.

"Honestly, hon, haven't seen him and haven't received anything from him. Do you want me to go ahead and prepare proceedings?"

"No, let's just wait 'til he gets back. The papers might have gotten lost in the mail or returned back and they're sitting in his mailbox right now. I'll call you when he gets back." Orianne ended the call and muttered, "If the terrorists don't kill him, I will." There was no point in being mad now until she found out why the papers weren't in Josh's hands. She had a chance to have dinner with Dave and there was no sense pouting and ruining the meal.

Stepping into the lobby at the agreed time, Orianne glanced around for Dave but he wasn't around. Seeing Edge and Carlito, she approached them to ask if they knew were he was but then noticed Randy Orton standing among them. She could be the bigger person of the two and she strode up anyhow.

"Fantastic," Orton sarcastically ground out. "_She's_ here. Dave's not gonna come with us."

Orianne ignored him, although the anger was fast rising within her. "You guys seen Dave?"

Glaring at Randy, Edge turned to the photographer. "He had a couple more things to do before leaving the autograph session. He should be here any minute. You wouldn't mind giving him up for a guys' night, would you?"

"Yeah, right," she heard behind her and then additional 'umph' from Carlito elbowing Orton.

"Yeah, it's not a problem. Take'im out, get'im drunk, buy'im a lap dance or two. Just promise me that you'll get him back to the hotel in time to fly home. On one condition," she said, holding up a finger. Edge nodded and waited. "Give me a minute with Randy to straighten some stuff out."

Orton's arms fell from where he had them crossed and his jaw dropped. Edge shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Sure. Before I forget, Lita and Maria and some of the girls are going out tonight. They're meeting down here in half an hour if you want to go with them."

"Thanks," she replied and stepped back, waiting on Randy. He looked helplessly back and forth between Edge and Carlito but then hung his head, following Orianne to another corner of the lobby.

"Yeah, what?" he asked as if he was ridiculously bored.

"Me and you. We gotta straighten this out. I don't like you and you don't like me."

"No shit, Sherlock," he sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up and listen." Randy's eyes narrowed in anger but she ignored the look and continued. "Yeah, I told Olivia what you did with a few embellishments but you shouldn't have put me in that situation. Yeah, Dave and I lied to everybody and I know Dave lying to you hurt like hell."

"You don't know that," he defensively cut in.

"I know better but that's beyond the point. You told me what you thought about me but that little thing with Edge and Carly," she twirled her finger around, "that's uncalled for. You tell me what it is that you want from me to stop this animosity, what your problem is with me now."

"You really want to know?"

"For the love of god, please."

Randy shook his head like he was about to change his mind. After a moment, he met her eyes. "Dave and I were like this," he said, twisting two fingers around each other, "until you came along. I had no idea where he was spending all his time and, lo and behold, it was with _you_. He lied to me about you. But, hey, we were working on being friends again when you went back to your husband. It couldn't be that easy, could it? No, you're back here again. I can't hang out with any of my friends because _you're_ around. Forget trying to even eat a simple meal with Dave." Orianne couldn't help but laugh; he was jealous of her. She finally figured out what his comment at the gym about letting Dave off the leash meant. "I don't find any of this funny."

"First off, you should try growing up. I can be civil with you around if you just try. But I can respect that you don't want me around. Just ask. 'Hey, Dave, you wanna grab a bite?'" she said, mocking Randy. "I'm a grown woman. I can handle it. We live together. For the love of god, I need you get him out so that I don't kill him."

Orton didn't know if he should be buying this from her or not but she seemed to be sincere. Instead of arguing with her accusations of being childish, he chose not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Yeah, thanks," he muttered.

"You think you could keep the comments to a minimum and stop glaring at me?"

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled.

It wasn't exactly the reconciling conversation Orianne had hoped for but she couldn't exactly expect someone as cocky and self-righteous as Randy Orton to just apologize and fall all over himself in gratitude. It was good enough and she stepped around him to see Dave purposefully striding towards them, a look on his face that was somewhere between anger and concern. Edge and Carlito were right on his heels in an attempt to stop him.

"Hey, baby," she said, stopping him and putting a hand on his chest.

"You okay?" he asked, looking over her head at Orton and then down at her eyes.

"Yeah. Randy and I worked things out. You," she said, running a hand down the center of his chest, "are going out with the guys tonight. Stay out of trouble. If any of these goobers buys you a lap dance, you have my permission to enjoy."

Dave blinked at her, trying to figure out what had just happened. "You heard her," Edge butted in, "let's get out of here."

"I'll catch you at the airport in the morning," she said, tugging his shirt to pull him down for a kiss.

"Wait. What are you going to do about supper?" he asked.

"I'm having a girls' night out," she responded with a smile. While she would rather have Dave make love to her until she was senseless, going out with Lita, and even Maria, would be a nice second to keeping her mind off the divorce papers and Sloan.

* * *

"I'm so jealous that I didn't get to go on the tour this year," Cara mumbled, flipping through Orianne's pictures of the trip.

"Two things. Woman, you were on your _honeymoon_, and second, haven't you been several times before?"

The tech giggled like the blushing bride that she was. "Okay, you've got a point."

"Oh, so tell me what exactly this was about?" Orianne asked, pointing at a photograph in Cara's mini-album from their trip to Mexico.

"That happened after Cedarius had one too many belly shots," she said with a laugh.

"And what's _your_ excuse?"

"Do I have to have one, Miss Jello Shot?" the blonde countered.

"I guess not," the photographer replied with a hint of a blush.

"Oh, this is for you," Cara suddenly said, digging around in her shoulder bag and producing an envelope. Orianne opened it and slipped out a small stack of pictures. Flipping through them, a small smile spread across her face; they were all of her and Dave at the reception. "The two of you look so good together."

"Not as good as you and Cedarius," the black-haired woman replied, her hand dropping to the wedding album on the table. "As soon as Sloan signs the divorce papers, I couldn't be any happier."

"And when is that?"

"He's supposed to arrive back in the States on Thursday but he'll have to debrief. So I might talk to him by…" She counted days in her head. "Saturday next week."

It was going to be a long week waiting to hear back from him. She had plans for Dave Tuesday night to make up for losing the belt. Triple H came back after the muscle tear Monday night and, in a surprise move—planned for months, surprise for the fans—he challenged Batista on his first night back and won the belt back. Although he knew it was coming, it was always disappointing to hand the championship over. So, Orianne planned on pampering her man to help him wallow in his pity.

Their flight was an early one, so they had most of the day ahead of them. Orianne insisted Dave take a nap because he was getting a little cranky while she took care of their laundry. While the second load was in the washing machine, she decided she could use a nap herself and lay down across the couch with the plan that the washing cycle signal would go off and wake her up. Just as she drifted off, the door bell jerked her out of the first phase of sleep. Struggling to wake up, she heard knocking follow. Instead of checking to see who it was, she pulled the door open.

Dave had been woken by the door bell as well and was stumbling down the stairs, hardly thinking that Orianne would get the door, just in time to see her face go white as a sheet.

TBC…


	15. Water Under the Bridge

**Author's Notes: **I know the end of the last chapter and the beginning of this one feels disjointed but it's very intentional. You know that whole distraction thing magicians do, that's what I'm attempting. Did it work? ;)

_**Chapter XV: Water Under the Bridge**_

Sloan knew the key to not being immediately labeled as a soldier or American was to dress to blend in. With his dark, graying hair and tan, a passing glance would not identify him. The small village was close enough to the base to not be surprised at military presence but he still chose to not draw attention to himself. The place was considered safe enough for him to wander through the market without his escort, who was patronizing the place for some local cuisine. It was their free time and their money and, as long as they were respectful and stayed out of trouble, it wasn't an issue.

Browsing several of the bazaar's booths, he had yet to decide what he wanted to present as a gift to Orianne. He was not still trying to win her back but he wanted to give her some kind of peace offering. He didn't want the last time he saw her as his wife to be bitter. He was going to sign the divorce papers; he had come to accept that their marriage was over and he had no choice. He should have signed them before he left but, when he put the pen on the paper, he just couldn't do it. He had spent this entire trip thinking about her and the divorce and had come to accept that he had no other choice.

The night the two of them shared a dinner and he begged her forgiveness, Orianne had told him that Shawn Michaels had told her to have him call. In all the craziness of that past month or so, she had neglected to tell him. After her lawyer handed him the divorce papers, he knew no one else to whom he could turn who knew about the affair and the divorce. He spent the rest of the week in San Antonio, hiding in Shawn's ranch house while the wrestler was on the road. It helped refresh him enough to start his new job that Monday at Woodward and Morgan.

Shawn Michaels had stood behind him, offering his encouragement and support when they occasionally talked. Shawn had advised him to walk a fine line if he still felt he had to show her why they should remain married. The wrestler had broken Orianne's confidence but only because he felt Sloan should know what he was dealing with. Not to give him the advantage but to beware of how she felt and make wise decisions based on that. The last couple of weeks, Shawn had stated the obvious—Sloan should go ahead and sign the papers unless he wanted Orianne to bitterly hate him for the rest of their lives. He wasn't going to win against her and they should part amicably instead of carrying the burden of hurtful words that shouldn't be spoken and an ugly divorce. When the wrestler stated that if Sloan loved Orianne, he had to give her what would make her happy, the man knew that he could do nothing else. Because he loved her, he wouldn't cage her nor fight with her because _he _couldn't accept reality and let go.

An amber stone caught his attention and he lightly touched it. This immediately brought the booth's owner to the table. "Are you looking for a gift for your wife?" the merchant asked in his native language. Sloan replied in the affirmative and slipped a scarf from its hook, dismissing the pendant as she would probably rather wear Dave's ruby than something he got her. "My wife wove that. It's dyed camel hair with sliver thread," he said of the black cloth edged in silver weave. "It's a gift for a queen," he said in an insinuating manner.

"It's beautiful," Sloan replied in Arabic.

"Just like your wife," he said, catching the wistful look in the other man's eyes.

"Yes," the soldier replied, fingering the scarf and thinking of how it would look tied to hold Orianne's hair back. He then fumbled in his pocket for the currency and added, "I'll take it."

"Let me wrap it up for you," he offered.

As the shopkeeper took the scarf and turned away, a figure caught Sloan's eye in his peripheral vision. The man was suspiciously looking about, his eyes and hands moving nervously. However, he seemed determined. To the untrained eye, the man was simply loitering. Sloan had never come face to face with a suicide bomber but the stereotype had been drilled into his head. He was not armed because he had returned all his weapons earlier with only hours to go before he boarded his plane home. The decision to come the marketplace was last minute. Now, his escort was too far away to be of any help. With only seconds to react, he saw no other action than to warn the civilians. At the top of his lungs, he yelled in Arabic, "Bomber! Get down!" At the same time, he dove for two children only twenty or so yards away. He covered the boys with his body as the deafening explosion sounded.

* * *

The merchant held his two sons close as the soldier queried him. "Can you tell me what happened?" 

"That man—he saved my sons lives." Djaq looked down at them and squeezed them in reassurance. He hadn't had time to even think about his boys as he took cover. He thought they were safe, playing with their friends. When the debris settled, he wiped the dust from his face and looked for the foreigner who had warned them. He could hear the wail of a child and recognized the sound as belonging to his eldest. As there were many others injured, no one was looking for this child. He plowed through the wreckage to see his two sons attempting to free themselves of the rubble—and the foreigner. His boys were whole and only slightly bleeding, so Djaq knelt by the man and began pulling debris off him. When he never moved, the merchant held his fingers to the man's throat.

"He was buying this for his wife. Can you see that she gets it?" he asked, holding out the scarf that he had wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "Wait," he said and pulled it back. Seeing the amber pendant among the mess of the destroyed booth, he picked it up and untied the bundle to secure it inside. "Tell her, this is from me for the sacrifice her husband made for my sons."

* * *

Whether or not she liked it, Orianne could read most of the insignia on Air Force uniforms. She knew exactly why these two men were here; one looked so familiar but her mind shut down while the color drained from her face and her legs turned to jelly. 

"Orianne," the first man stated and she nodded. "May we come in?"

She couldn't make her tongue work and, after a hard swallow, nodded and pointed towards the living room. "Let's…go in…to sit down," she stammered. This was not happening. It couldn't be happening.

"Sir," the USAF Captain said upon seeing Dave coming down the hallway.

"Dave Batista," he replied, holding his hand out first to the Captain and then to the chaplain.

"I'm Captain Stephen Robbins and this is Lieutenant Michael Hawkins. I know Orianne through Sloan. We danced at the charity ball," he said, turning towards her with a sad smile that asked her to remember.

"I-I thought I knew you," she hoarsely replied.

"Could we sit down?" Hawkins asked.

Dave showed them into the living room and she quickly lowered herself in the end chair, where he perched on the arm with his hand on her shoulder. He was sure he knew why they were there and Orianne was going to need him. The two officers settled on the couch.

"Orianne, I'm afraid I have bad news," Robbins began and she blinked her eyes rapidly, feeling the sting behind them.

"How d-did it happen?"

"It was a hero's death, ma'am," the chaplain stated but the other man began to relate what they could piece together from the witnesses' testimony.

Orianne held herself together as Dave stroked her back through her hair. Without that solid contact, she might have fallen apart. She silently listened until Robbins was finished and then stated, "Sloan will be receiving a Silver Star and, of course, a Purple Heart. He's qualified to be buried in Arlington. We need to know if that is your wish or if you want us to bring him to Prescott."

"He never thought he would ever do anything to earn himself burial in Arlington," she said quietly, more to herself. "We bought a plot back home but I…" She looked up at Captain Robbins. "I don't think I could deny him this honor. The Air Force was his life."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied and then began detailing how and when they would be in contact with her.

"We'll take our leave of you, ma'am," Lieutenant Hawkins stated and rose.

"How did you know to find me here?" she suddenly asked.

"Standard," Robbins answered, rising as well. "You were listed as his spouse with this address. Is there something wrong?" She shook her head. "I know it hurts and I hope you take some comfort in the number of lives he saved. I've known Sloan the entire time he was in the Air Force. I know he died with those lives _and _his wife on his mind."

"I'll show you out," Dave said and the two men followed him into the foyer.

"If I may ask, how do you know Mrs. Anderson?" the chaplain asked.

"First, it's _Thomas_-Anderson," he replied, hoping to keep the disdain out of his voice. "Second, she's a close friend and we work together." He could sense the suspicion from the second the two of them saw him. As much as he wanted to claim Orianne in front of them, there was no sense in making her an adulteress in their eyes. Let them think Sloan died a happily married man, he thought.

Batista shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. He didn't know how he was going to find Orianne when he walked back into the living room. He felt no personal grief—he didn't know Sloan. They had only met twice and, one of those times, he punched the man. A brief moment of relief flickered through him that Sloan would never be a problem to them again but guilt flooded him at the thought. He would rather Sloan be a thorn in his side for the rest of his life than Orianne's family be put through this grief.

Before he reached the chair where she was still sitting, she looked up at him with watery eyes. "I killed him."

"What?"

"When we were in England, when I found out that Josh still didn't have the papers from Sloan, I said," she faltered but then continued, "that if the terrorists didn't kill him, then I would."

"Don't say that, you know it's not true."

"I can't help but feel that," she cried, wiping away the tears. "I'm not going to cry."

"You need to."

"No," she replied, holding him at arm's length. "What I need to do is get on a plane right now to see my family. I can't exactly tell my parents that their son-in-law is dead over the phone."

"There's no sense in going to Prescott to come back to DC in a few days. You still have to…" he trailed off but forced himself to continue. "identify him and then…"

Her bottom lip started quivering and she sucked it in to hold back the sob. "Yeah, you're right."

Dave watched her absently stand and wander off down the hall. He heard her blow her nose and then, in a few moments, her voice wavering on the phone. She barely got through the story the officers had told her when the first small cries came. He crept down the hall and stood outside the kitchen door where she was. She needed to do this alone but then he couldn't leave her to herself. "I love you, Orrin," she blubbered, "God, I love you. Please tell everybody I love them." He then heard the phone clap close and hurried in to gather her into his arms just as the sobs started.

Orianne buried her face in his chest and didn't protest when he picked her up to cradle her against him and carried her up the stairs. He lay on the bed with her until she was cried out and then told her to sleep.

The next hour was rough as he called Jennifer McNay in personnel to secure Orianne's absence for the next two weekends. He then personally called Vince McMahon to tell him he wouldn't be coming to work through this RAW. A few angry words passed between them but Dave didn't care. He barely stopped short of telling the Chairman to just go ahead and suspend him if he didn't like it. A call was put in to Edge, whom he knew would inform everyone else. Then he called his parents, which he was afraid had turned into a mistake when his mother showed up.

He had begun fielding calls from their friends. At first, he wasn't going to answer her phone but, seeing that it was Lita, he did anyhow. Then it was Maria and then Torrie. Thinking twice about answering her phone when it was Shawn Michaels, he decided Shawn deserved to talk to a human being rather than voice mail. Just as Dave promised the older wrestler to keep him in the loop and have Orianne call him, another knock sounded at the front door. He ground out, "Grand Central Station, how may I help you?" His stomach was growling and he needed to either fix supper or procure food from somewhere else.

"You are a godsend," he said upon opening the door to his mother who was holding a pot of the most delicious smelling avgolemono. Popping a kiss on her cheek, he took the egg-lemon soup with chicken and rice from her and carried it into the kitchen. "Ori just woke up and got in the shower," Dave offered.

"I didn't plan on staying. Is she taking it well?"

"To an extent. She broke down on me after she got the news and I didn't think she would ever quit crying. I just wanted her to stop because it hurt so bad," he explained, rubbing his eyes. "But now she just seems to be numb."

"The soup is still hot, so don't put it in the refrigerator until you both eat. _Make _her eat. Hector and I talked about this and we want to close one of the restaurants down for everyone to come after the funeral and eat."

"I don't know if it's a good idea for them to be coming to her boyfriend's family's place."

"Unless you stand up on a chair and yell, 'hey, everybody, my parents own this place and I'm sleeping with the widow,' most everybody probably won't know."

He chuckled at his mother, cupping her hands around her mouth and dropping her voice low to imitate him. She was never afraid to state exactly what was on her mind. "Alright, I'll tell her."

"Well, I guess I'll go now," she said. As she opened the door, Orianne descended the stairs.

"Mrs. Batista," the photographer greeted.

"Hea, dear," she corrected, gliding down the hallway to hug Orianne to her. "Call me 'Hea.'" When the girl finally pulled away, Dave's mother smoothed a lock of wet hair from her face. "I brought you some soup. You have to eat."

"Thank you," she replied with a nod. "You're too good to me."

"Nonsense," Hea replied, patting her son's girlfriend on the cheek. "Eat and rest. You need your strength. I'll be going."

When Dave came back into the kitchen after seeing his mother out, Orianne was sitting at the table, perusing the notebook that he had been writing down the incoming calls on. "All these people called for me?" she asked with sniffle, overcome with their friends' concern.

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing her shoulders and then turning away to take bowls from the cabinet.

"I guess I should start calling them back."

"No, you need to eat," he replied, ladling soup into one of the bowls.

"I'm not hungry," she sighed.

"You _will _eat," he said, putting the bowl in front of her.

Getting Orianne to consistently eat over the next week was difficult but he managed. The easiest way was to have their meals with others around. She knew it was futile to refuse food in front of his family. While her family was present, her mother took over the job of keeping her fed. After she confirmed that the body that the USAF returned from Iraq was indeed Sloan, he didn't try. He wasn't going to force her after that ordeal.

Dave didn't know what he should expect when the Thomas family flew into DC. He wasn't going to push his presence on them but he wasn't about to let her pick them up at the airport alone and cram them all into the Escape. He casually hung back when Orianne sighted her father and rushed to hug him. When she saw her mother a couple of steps behind him, she extracted herself from her father and Marian and her daughter awkwardly gazed at each other. Orianne then flung her arms around her mother and she tightly returned the hug. "I love you, Momma," she said, sniffling hard. "And I'm so, so sorry about everything."

"It's water under the bridge, baby," she replied but didn't let her go. When Orrin and Olivia dropped their carry-on luggage and wrapped their arms around the two, Carter then joined the huddle and Dave found his eyes stinging for the first time. When they released each other, he came forward. Olivia broke the tension by parting the sea and hugging him. Orrin greeted him as if they were buddies hooking up again, bumping their knuckles together. Carter shook his hand and then Dave turned to Marian. "Ma'am," he said with a nod.

"Thank you for taking care of my baby," she said, reaching up to pat his cheek. Dave held back the chuckle, thinking about how much she and his mother were so different and so alike.

TBC…

**Author's Notes: **I have never done this before in a fic and I hope it worked instead of it looking like a cop-out to reconcile their relationship. There's still a couple more chapters remaining as Orianne's and Dave's story isn't quite over yet.


	16. Escaping All Rational Thought

_**Chapter XVI: Escaping All Rational Thought**_

The Thomas family stayed at Dave's townhouse the duration of their stay in DC, so he bunked with Derek and Monica to give them privacy. By the time they left, it seemed that Orianne was right about the way they would accept him…except about Marian. Maybe it was because her daughter and son-in-law would never reconcile or that she finally accepted Dave as the man Orianne loved rather than a homewrecker, but she was gracious, never giving anyone a doubt that she and her daughter had argued over his relationship with her.

At the funeral, Dave hung back from Orianne's family and Sloan's friends. Edge, Lita, Ric Flair, Cara and Cedarius Cooper, and Shawn Michaels all flew in for Orianne and, at the funeral, they stood beside Dave to offer him support in a situation where he felt out of place. He couldn't see Ori's face and he possibly didn't want to as he watched her flinch with each volley of the gun salute. While he wished he was the one beside her, clenching her hand, he could respect that it was her father. He could stand back and admire her grace under fire and watch the sun glint off the silver embroidered scarf that was wrapped tightly around her hair that was pulled back in a braided bun, something her mother must have done because he knew for sure that she didn't have a clue how to do that.

The scarf was another issue that he had just found out about that morning. He could only hope that someone set her straight in the irrationality of her grief. Yesterday afternoon, Orianne answered the door to a woman she didn't know nor recognize but was also in the Air Force. "Mrs. Thomas-Anderson?" she asked.

"Yes," Orianne replied, nervous as to why she was seeing another uniform on Dave's steps.

"I have a package for you with explicit instructions from Captain Robbins to place it in your hands." She held out a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

"Thank you," the photographer replied, taking it from her and glancing over it to see an envelope with her name written on it.

"Ma'am," she said but then seemed as if she needed to say more. "Captain Anderson recruited me. I decided to go into computer programming because of his influence. Those were the two best decisions of my life and I have him to thank."

"Thank you, again," Orianne replied and watched as the girl descended the stoop and climbed into sedan driven by an escort.

She was never one to read the card first, obviously her undoing when Sloan sent the flowers and a lesson not learned. She set the envelope aside as Olivia bounced into the room to ask who had been at the door. Answering, her sister untied the bundle to reveal Sloan's last present for her. "Wow," Olivia breathed as Orianne lifted the silver embroidered scarf. "That's handmade." It wasn't thick enough to make a difference during the winter but it would be perfect folded and tied over hair.

The silver on the edges looked eerily like anemones but she dismissed the thought as she heard the ping of the pendant hit the table. She let Olivia take the scarf from her as she picked up the amber stone. There were no identifying marks and she could only assume that this was handcrafted as well. Finally, picking up the card, she read through its contents from a man she didn't know but had apparently been the investigating officer in the attack. Sloan had been in the bazaar because of her—he was looking for something to take home for _her. _He wouldn't have died if…

"Damn you, Sloan," she shouted, throwing the letter down. "Damn you!"

Olivia stood in stunned silence as her sister stormed down the hall, up the stairs, and then slammed the bedroom door shut. As she picked up the card, the rest of her family appeared, asking what had happened. She held a finger up and skimmed the contents before handing it off to her mother. "I've got this one," she said, picking up the scarf and pendant and marching up the stairs.

Listening to Olivia, Orianne's rational thought accepted that she could not be held at fault for his death but her heart, her emotions continued to argue with her mind. She knew those who went through funerals of loved ones numb. If only that was the case for her with these warring thoughts. It was stupid to still have this overriding sense of guilt that Sloan wouldn't have been in that marketplace if it wasn't for her and that her words in England were like a voodoo charm but she couldn't shake the feeling. Dave was the only one who knew what she had said. She resisted glancing over her shoulder to see where he stood. He was present because she had seen him standing out among the others who had come from work. She hated that he chose propriety over being beside her but she agreed with his reasoning. There was no sense in flaunting their affair and the divorce since only a few people present knew about either or she'd feel even guiltier. As far as Sloan's friends were concerned, the big guy standing in the back was one of her friends from work.

If she was hurting over the dissolution of her marriage, the death of her almost ex-husband wasn't any better. She shouldn't have to justify her grief but she felt as if she was cheating on Dave to hurt so much over Sloan's death. What was the difference in never seeing him again because they were divorced or because he was no longer here? That was just as stupid a thought as the first one. No, she should grieve because he was once her husband that she loved and his life was snuffed out too early. He deserved the chance to right his wrong with her and find love again. If she got that chance, then he deserved it as well. They lived and loved together through a decade—having no feeling whatsoever made her less than human.

To add to it all, there was this underlying bitterness, something else that she felt guilty over. She was bitter and angry towards Sloan for making her a military widow. She was not stupid—the military was necessary. But it had made her life hell. It was a major contributing factor in the break-up of her marriage. It was the subject of too many of their arguments. While she was going to distance herself from it with just a signature, to be rid of that overwhelming label of being an officer's wife, she was in another category—a military widow. It was like the group of women called the "9/11 widows" from the September 11th attacks. She didn't want the label; she never wanted the first label. She was Sloan's wife—not Orianne Thomas-Anderson.

And here she was, being forced to play the part. Because Sloan was an orphan, she was the first and foremost next of kin. It was in her hands that the flag draped across the casket was placed. Those words were said to her: "As a representative of the United States Air Force, it is my high privilege to present you this flag. Let it be a symbol of the grateful appreciation this nation feels for the distinguished service rendered to our country and our flag by Captain Anderson." The cloth burned her hands and the words made her cringe. She had to shake the hand of every one of Sloan's friends and receive their condolences like she was his devoted wife. She had to hear every story that was told about Sloan at the Batistas' restaurants after the funeral. None of them were lies but they all revolved around his life in the Air Force. His memory was toasted and he deserved every bit of it. Just because they couldn't work out as husband and wife didn't mean he didn't deserve the honor.

Thinking of this, she bit down on the bitterness and tried not to think about the ceremonies that would follow with the medals he would be awarded. Even after today, she would remain his widow. The local papers would turn out for the ceremonies and she would be splashed across the front page with some headline about a local hero posthumously receiving a medal. The letters would pour in, many from overseas, and she would have to respond to them and to those who sent flowers. Then there was what she was calling blood money—the life insurance pay-out. She wasn't going to accept a dime of it. She would establish a scholarship at the University of Alabama for orphaned children who were not adopted and wished to major in computer programming or some stipulation like that. Josh Holcomb could find a lawyer who would be willing to oversee the distribution of money and she could have nothing to do with it once it was established. Seeing the images of rows upon rows upon rows of white cross headstones in Arlington in her mind, she was reminded that she was not the only person to ever go through this.

When everyone had left the restaurant besides Dave's and Orianne's immediate families, her eyes swept the room of tired, sad faces. Their families meeting for the first time should have been the typical nervous but joyous occasion. Before finally seeking Dave out for her first hug of the day from him, she muttered, "You couldn't do anything the easy way, could you, Sloan?"

* * *

The Thomases' were on a flight back to Prescott the next day. Orianne would be following the day after to begin to settle Sloan's estate. Orrin had already promised to help her clear out the Bimingham apartment. 

The night before her flight, Dave woke up to find her side of the bed empty. Once again, the glowing light from downstairs tipped him off to where she was at. He could hear the soft sound of sandpaper on wood in the kitchen and quietly turned the corner to see her working. He was surprised to see that all four sides of the frame had now been stripped of the gilding and the rough edges sanded. She was spot checking the sides while a small can of wood putty was open in front of her on the protective plastic. He watched her study a crack and then pick up the miniature spatula to smooth in the putty, carefully wiping off the excess. Her nose was red as if she had been holding in the cries and tears that threatened to escape. Turning to go, the floor creaked and her head snapped up.

"Did I wake you?" she immediately asked.

"No, I just wanted to check on you," he replied, coming on into the kitchen. "You're almost done. When did you do all this?"

"While you were at Derek's and Monica's. I couldn't sleep while you were gone."

"It doesn't look like you can sleep while I'm here."

She ignored the reply and set the edge down that she was working on. "I'm far from done. I've got to fill in all the cracks and chips on two more sides, seal it, and put it back together."

"You still haven't decided what you want to go in it, have you?" Dave asked and she shook her head in reply. "So you're going to seal it and not repaint it? Even if that's what your great-grandfather had done?"

"I don't think he did," Orianne said, picking up one of the finished pieces. "See here," she pointed out his signature and the date of its completion. "See here where the wood is just a little different color. That's where I had to peel the paint without thinner. It's because part of his name was painted over. I would have lost it completely if I had used anything on it. If he had carved it and signed it, I don't think he would have painted over part of that."

"Such an eye for details," Dave replied, impressed with her deductions.

They slipped into an easy silence but then Orianne stated, "When I get to Prescott, I think I'm gonna stay there for a little while."

"Little while? What does that mean?" he asked, worry etched on his brow.

"I don't know. A week? Two weeks?" She shrugged but then noticed the look of concern in his eyes. She then reached out a hand to grasp his. "Don't worry. This is home now. I'll always come home."

"Who's going to help me eat all this food that the neighbors brought by?"

"You eat six times a day and you can't finish off what's in the refrigerator?"

"I had to try," he sheepishly responded.

"Go back to bed, baby. I'll be there soon," Orianne stated, patting his hand.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep without you up there," he replied, reaching for one of the unfinished sides of the frame. "What can I do to help?"

She sucked in her bottom lip in thought and handed him the spatula, showing him how to fill in the cracks and chips. She then took up the fourth and final piece and, with her own fingers, smoothed in the putty.

* * *

Thankfully, Sloan had secured a fully furnished apartment. Orianne didn't have to worry about what to do with any furniture. Everything that wasn't personal was being loaded into the truck to be dropped off at the Salvation Army. Orrin and Sloan were roughly the same size and she told her brother to take any of his clothes that he wanted. Deciding to tackle the desk and all the papers located there, she settled in the chair and was interrupted by Orrin coming back in the small living room. "I can't," he said, tears starting to run down his face. "I can't take any of it." 

"Then don't," she replied, hugging him to her. She and Orrin were alike in that they tried to hold it all in. From his teen years on, she had seen him cry maybe twice. Sloan's death had finally gotten to him. When he eventually pulled back, Orianne wiped his face with her sleeve. "You okay?"

Orrin nodded and then pointed back towards the bedroom. "I'll go back and keep packing."

"Don't forget to keep his uniforms separate."

"I won't," he replied and then ambled off, wiping at his eyes.

Orianne settled down at the desk and then saw the divorce papers. A fountain pen was on top of them, turned to the page that Sloan was supposed to sign. He hadn't done it; they were still here. A blob of ink was above the line where it seemed he had started to sign his name. Then it struck her like a ton of bricks. Even if he had signed the papers before leaving, she was still his emergency contact, the beneficiary on his life insurance, and the executrix of his will. She couldn't be angry at him for not signing the papers and leaving all this for her. Nothing would have changed. But even in death or newly divorced, she was still attached to him, still defined by him. Tomorrow she was going straight to the social security office and change her surname back to her maiden name.

There was so much to do with settling Sloan's affairs that she was actually looking forward to the diva calendar shoot. Dave nor Jennifer McNay had realized that the second week she was given off from WWE was the biggest diva shoot of the year. Jennifer was in the process of manipulating someone else to do the shoot when Orianne called her to say that she would still do it. The personnel manager assured her that they would work it out for someone else to do but, when the photographer began detailing things only she could know and organize, Jennifer relented.

The set for this photoshoot was a bit more intricate and would require working over three days rather than the two she had managed last year. She spent her first night completely alone in the hotel Monday with only RAW to keep her company. She was in the studio hours before the divas were to step foot on the set, working with a crew to arrange the amusement park theme to her satisfaction. The carousel horse and the ball pit were beyond perfect but she was having trouble with the lighting on the booth simulating a baseball throwing game and beginning to regret the dunking booth idea. They had given her a large chunk of the photography budget and, deciding if they could sell off half of the department, she'd waste every bit of the allotted money. She even requested the make-up artist and hairdresser to please do something about her own appearance for the videotaping, unable to hide the dark circles under her eyes on her own.

Since the shoot was taking place in the studio at headquarters, many of the staff drifted down to say hello and offer their condolences. She graciously accepted them but each person made her headache worse. By the time she was done with the last diva on the third day, the therapy of the shoot had worn off and she just wanted to get back to Alabama. "Take one of those pies, if you want, Victoria, or even two," she offered as the woman took the robe offered to her. For the scene, she was dressed in only a revealing apron, holding a cream pie for a pie tin throwing contest. It already had several streaks in it from where Victoria had run her finger through it. "I'll have to throw them away if you don't."

"You doing okay, honey?" the dark-haired wrestler asked, picking up the cream pie, and Orianne gave her a weak smile and a nod. "The girls are going out tonight. We want you got come with us."

The photographer paused for a moment. Everything lately made her tear up and the divas caring enough to talk about her and ask her out with them was not helping. "I wish I could," she replied, rubbing her forehead. "I've got to get this all packed up before I leave. I'm so sorry but thanks for thinking about me. I really appreciate it."

Victoria could see behind her eyes to how emotionally tired she was. For a moment, she thought about hi-jacking the woman but decided Ori knew herself best. "Alright, hon, the invitation always stands while we were on the road, you know that."

Orianne nodded and thanked the diva again. With Victoria off the set, the photographer began dictating what exactly needed to be done with the set-ups. She would have to be back in tomorrow to be sure that they were either picked up by or delivered to the appropriate companies.

Then she was on a flight to DC. She and Dave would miss each other by a couple of hours but the times couldn't be changed. Her destination would have been Alabama but she needed to pick up some clothing and wanted to take one particular camera back to Prescott with her. Those were her justifying reasons anyway when she dropped everything inside the door and headed straight for the frame pieces.

It was a gorgeous Friday in September and she didn't see why she couldn't enjoy it and seal the frame's woodwork outside since it wasn't something she wanted to do in the house. So, instead of spending time inside drumming up a meal, she called the Batistas' restaurant to place a take-out order.

While waiting for the food to arrive, Orianne stepped outside on the deck and gave careful consideration for how she wanted to go about the project since it was possible that bugs or random bits of tiny debris might get stuck on it and mar it. Just as she secured newspaper on the deck, supported the frame above it, and set out the sealant and brush, the doorbell rang.

Perfect timing as her stomach was starting to growl. She peered through the peephole to doublecheck who was on the other side and suddenly the woman didn't feel like eating. With a hard swallow, she opened the door to Dave's sister, Dana, who was holding the take-out bag from the Batista restaurant she managed. "I didn't know you delivered," Orianne nervously stated. The two women hadn't said another word to each other since their confrontation that night at the restaurant in which Dana threatened her about hurting Dave.

"I…" she began and then held out the bag. When Orianne took it, she hesitantly asked, "Can I come in for a moment?"

"Dave's not here," the photographer replied, placing a hand on the door.

"I know. I brought the soup because I wanted to talk to _you_."

"Oh, uh, yeah," she replied and turned for the kitchen, letting  
Dana shut the door behind her. "What can I do for you?" she asked with a dry mouth, placing the take-out back in the microwave oven to hold in the heat.

Dave's sister wrung her hands once and then shoved them in her pockets. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you. I should never have ambushed you at the restaurant and said those things. I know I seemed so uncaring over Sloan."

"Wait a minute," Orianne suddenly interrupted. Anger had started welling up in her legs and now it was beating hard in her chest. "Don't you dare come apologize just because of Sloan. I don't need your pity and I sure as hell don't want it." The anger was now rushing through her ears. "You don't have to worry anymore if I'll go back to my husband as if that's any concern of yours. Besides, what Dave does is none of your damn business. So take you threats _and _your apologies and shove it."

Dana's eyes dropped to the floor but she could still see Orianne griping the countertop and her hard breaths. Yeah, the older woman knew she deserved that. But the problem was she already knew it. The oldest Batista sibling had a tendency to be self-righteous, a fault she was aware of but had trouble controlling. As the eldest, she was the perfectionist of the family. She had to excel at everything but was met with the same kind of reaction that both her younger brothers received when they did less than she. Derek and Dave weren't exactly concerned with being top of the class or even staying out of trouble. But yet they could do no wrong in their parents' eyes according to her perception. And even now, she was raising three children on her own and juggling the family business in preparation for when her parents' would retire. Her brothers didn't even care now about continuing the business started in Napflion, Greece.

Her response to Orianne had not only been one of self-righteousness towards the woman herself but towards Dave as well. He allowed himself to get hurt too often and she was stepping in to ensure that didn't happen because her family was obviously enamored with a woman who couldn't respect her past marriage nor the man she was currently dating to wait for the divorce to be final. But the funny thing of it all was that she loved her family despite their flaws. Life was too fleeting to hold all of that against them. It was that ephemeral existence that brought her there today. Sloan's death had made her realize what an asshole she had been. Now, how to say all that to Orianne was the most difficult part of it. Nothing the photographer could say could make that any harder or easier.

"I wish I could tell you," Dana quietly began, "what Dave went through with Libby and Gabrielle. I could only think about him getting hurt." But then she raised her eyes to meet Orianne's. "I wish I could tell you that I know what you're going through."

"You know nothing—" The other woman began but immediately stopped as Dana held up her hand and the look in her eyes darkened.

"Has Dave ever told you where my children's father is? Why you've never met him or hear us talk much about him?" Orianne shook her head in response. "Seven years ago, my ex-husband was killed in a car wreck. It was only about a year after we signed the papers. I hated him more than I ever thought I could hate a person that day the divorce was final. But at the funeral, I could only remember him like he was when we fell in love, on the day of our wedding, when each of our children were born…"

"I-I'm sorry," Orianne stammered in response.

"No, I am. I shouldn't have been such a bitch to you to begin with because if you are half the woman Dave makes you out to be, then I shouldn't have said one word to begin with," Dana paused and then nodded, "And I think you are that woman."

"I'm not the woman you think I am."

"I know about the affair and I don't care anymore. And it's not because of Sloan either. I came here today to tell you all this without Dave around." Dana ran a hand through her thick, black hair with a sigh. "And I came to tell you that you can grieve for Sloan. It's okay."

"I…okay," Orianne replied, unsure of how to respond.

"Your soup is getting cold, so I'll be getting on." Both women moved to the door and Dana opened it but then turned to the photographer. "Dave has fallen in love with you head over heels. Be good to him and that includes taking care of yourself."

Orianne stood in the foyer alone, blankly staring at the closed door. She wasn't sure what to make of their conversation. Her stomach growled and she remembered the soup and the frame. Another time, she told herself and retrieved the take-out to head out to the deck again. Soup carton and all, she settled down with the once gilded frame.

When she decided to come back from Prescott, she'd put it together and hang it…if she could ever decide what she wanted to go in it. It was too large to hold a picture. It needed to be a painting or a mirror. She didn't own paintings because she preferred to frame her own pictures and because she could never choose one. But mirrors were dull and only reflected the reality that was staring into it.

Finally finished with the sealant _and _the soup, Orianne admired her work in restoring what her great-grandfather had originally carved and then shut the glass door behind her to begin unpacking and then repacking.

TBC…

**

* * *

Author's Notes: **My apologies if the 'conversation' between Dana and Orianne feels stilted. I've been holding out for quite some time on how to write their reconciliation and I just finished it moments before posting this. So it's not quite as polished as I would like but I didn't want to keep y'all waiting any longer for the next chapter. 


	17. Going Home

_**Chapter XVII: Going Home**_

Dave felt like a lost puppy dog without Orianne at home. He couldn't imagine being the spouse of a wrestler who stayed home. He was beyond lucky that he and Orianne were traveling together and hoped that he had a long tenure on RAW. Because she was in Stamford during his off days for the photoshoot, he had wanted to come stay with her but his position as entrepreneur was required at the gym. Until this week, he hadn't stepped foot in the place since the news of Sloan's death was delivered. He couldn't ignore his own gym any longer. There was nothing he could do about their flights missing each other last Friday but he was almost positive he was going to do something about her not being on the road this weekend either.

Orianne had been granted two weekends off for bereavement but she also had a weekend coming to her for doing the diva photoshoot and opted to take it after the shoot. Right after the funeral, she had left for Alabama. He was ready for her to come home. They hadn't made love in almost three weeks. For some, that's not all that bad but, for the two of them, five days without was tough. It wasn't about satisfying sexual needs but loving each other. He hadn't been able to show her that he loved her in three weeks. Two of those weeks, they had barely spoken on the phone but she kept promising to be back soon. It could be another week if he didn't see her again until she came back to work on the fourth weekend.

"Where's Ori today?" Carlito asked in his thick accent.

"She gets this weekend off for the photoshoot."

"The photoshoot," the frizzy wrestler mused, thinking of his partner, Torrie Wilson, in the calendar and the video. They weren't dating and probably would never but he could admire where admiration was due. "Torrie mentioned that last weekend. Said she had fun. Why can't Ori do our photoshoots? She's much better looking than Boswick."

Dave chuckled in response, wondering how one of those would exactly go between him and Ori; his thoughts were entirely lurid. "If it wasn't a full time job in and of itself, I'm sure we could pull a few strings, stage a coup, sign a petition." He was afraid he was going to have to do all that to get her back home.

He was so tired of Sloan overshadowing their relationship. Obviously, it was an issue during the affair. She had left him to go back to her husband even though they loved each other. Since they split up, it seemed he was always lurking in regards to the divorce. They were this close to getting the papers signed and, now, in death, Sloan was consuming their relationship. If only she could finish what was necessary to be done in Alabama and get home, they could move on. But she was still being ambiguous about when she was returning.

This Sunday was an important date for them, whether or not she realized it. She wanted an anniversary date and he had every intention of giving her one. But she wasn't here for him to do that and he had resigned himself to not being with her to make a big deal about it.

Thinking about his plans gone awry, he realized that RAW would be in Chattanooga this Monday. That was only about two hours away from Prescott. If he didn't get suspended for being caught lying, then he could make it back in time for the show. He was definitely about to make Sunday an important date for her.

"I gotta go see Vince," he suddenly said and Carlito watched him stride out of the lockerroom, a look of bafflement on the younger man's face.

* * *

Athena freely grazed nearby; she didn't need to be tethered since she had a tendency not to wonder. Orianne raised her eyes from where she lay propped up on the saddle to glance over at the horse. It was a ridiculously lazy fall Sunday but, while Athena had no cares in the world and the leaves were turning colors as demanded by the seasons, Orianne couldn't relax, couldn't find that ease with which summer moved into autumn. 

Every morning she had been in Prescott, she ate breakfast with her family, packed a lunch, and rode Athena out to the creek with all the cards and letters that had come in and began catching up on the correspondence. It was so frustrating reading all the condolences when she didn't deserve them. For god's sake, she had had an affair on the man and then kicked him out to take up residence with another man while waiting for the divorce papers to be signed. She almost wished for that instead of the label of Sloan's widow. Technically, she now legally went by her maiden name but she was still Mrs. Thomas-Anderson while she waded through settling the estate, the medal ceremonies, and donating the life insurance to UAB. She was just another warm body and name to those calling to support their cause. She had actually received calls from both the pro-war and anti-war camps, asking for her to join them or use Sloan's story to twist as part of their rationale.

The labels were inescapable and Orianne had been wondering for two weeks who exactly she was. She had always been Sloan's wife; everywhere they lived, it was for him. She was always introduced and identified as Captain Anderson's wife. In her heart and mind, she hadn't been his wife for a year. She had every intention of not being his wife but he had been dragging his feet and he died with her as his wife. It was if he couldn't give her the one thing she wanted most—freedom.

Kind souls, thinking they were doing her a favor, had already been sending newspaper clippings of articles that ran about Sloan. She didn't need the ones with her face plastered on them as his widow or the benefactor of the scholarship. There were two in particular that she was reading now. Birmingham's newspaper made a big deal about the endowed scholarship for computer programming majors. They didn't know it but she had met with her financial advisor and discussed how much of their savings she could take out and still retire comfortably. She then added that money to the life insurance pay-out and handed it over to the University of Alabama. It was on the damn front page with a picture of her signing the papers that made the scholarship official. It was a posed photograph and she made sure her left hand was under the table so that her missing wedding rings wouldn't be immortalized forever in the archives.

The same picture appeared in UAB's student newspaper and someone had managed to procure a photo of her and Sloan from the charity ball two and a half years ago for which she had bought the infamous red dress. The picture wasn't in color but she remembered everything vividly. She and Sloan were standing together in front of a gray, bland backdrop, his arm around her waist and her hand resting on his chest. Her fingers barely grazed the insignia on his uniform. Even without the navy blue highlighting his crystal blue eyes in the black and white photo, she knew how good the color complemented them. Her crimson gown was a perfect foil to the dress uniform. Would Dave had been as attracted to her that night of the fundraiser if he had known that she had worn the dress for her husband?

Orianne put a hand to her head. She had to stop with the guilt issues. She had to remember what Dana said. She could grieve for him because she did remember him from times like this. The charity ball was probably the second fondest memory she had of their marriage, the first being their wedding.

But how could he go and get himself killed like this? She read over the article again and noticed the paragraph about his selfless sacrifice and how many people he may have saved that day. The images of the thousands of white tombstones at Arlington Cemetery flashed through her mind again and it dawned on her like a lightning flash. She was being so selfish. They were all but divorced and she _was _acting like the selfish widow. She was wallowing in her bitterness and grief when there so many in that small village in Iraq who were celebrating being alive after a selfish attack upon them. She was fighting with the existential questions of who she was and her identification as Sloan's wife, a military widow, when those people were just happy to be alive.

Orianne reached for the plastic shoebox she had brought that held all the letters and cards addressed to her regarding Sloan's passing. It was truly overwhelming. Many of them came from overseas. These weren't about her but about him. All of them had something to say about the kind of person he was. He had changed and touched so many lives. One of the newspaper articles listed all of his medals and commendations. Had she truly known he had that many? How could she have been his wife and not realized that? She was mourning her life with him, mourning being his wife when this should have been a celebration of his life. How could she have been so selfish?

All of the correspondence that came in the mail yesterday had been replied to and she tucked them into the shoebox and set her responses aside to be mailed tomorrow. She placed the Birmingham article into the shoebox and began to fold the UAB piece up as well when she stopped to look over the picture of the two of them again. Her red dress, although dark gray in the picture, was staring back at her. That dress no longer reminded her of her husband and the charity ball but of the first time that she and Dave made love. She was going to have to stop hiding from him. In trying to deal with her selfishness, guilt, and anger, she had run away to Prescott for almost two weeks not only to settle Sloan's estate but to keep from facing Dave. She couldn't be with him while she was having to play the part of Sloan's wife.

She was finally done with all the immediate formalities and there were no more excuses to stay, although she had every intention. With her informal suspension in March, she really couldn't take any more time off but she had still been considering it until she could come to terms with the anger and guilt and feeling two-faced about being committed to Dave and acting as Sloan's wife. Dave gave her the impression that he wanted to keep her and Sloan's name as clean as possible through this ordeal but she felt he had to be annoyed that, once again, he was second in her life. They were lying again, or really she was. Yet, despite the fact that she did indeed have an affair and they were in the middle of a divorce, Orianne would always be Sloan's wife and widow. Could Dave handle that? She didn't want to know but she had to bring it up—it was something that they had to deal with. He was so possessive of her and she couldn't help but relish in it. But with Dave, she was finally who she was meant to be. She could be who she was and do what she enjoyed—tattoos and all—and not be looking over her shoulder. Dave had awakened something within her that unleashed who she really was. She didn't want to lose that and the longer she stayed in Prescott and hid from him and her fears the more she endangered their relationship.

Orianne wasn't going to solve it all in those few moments and tucked the article in the shoebox. A dark shadow passed over her and she glanced up to see the beginning clouds of a thunderstorm. She was going to have to pack up early but didn't want to leave. She promised herself a few more minutes and leaned back on the saddle, deeply inhaling the scent of the ozone change. She loved the smell and feel of thunderstorms. Her brother had teased her as a kid that she was a natural lightning rod with all the metal screws, plates, and joints in her leg. Despite knowing better, she had never stayed out in a thunderstorm to enjoy it because of that childish, unfounded fear.

She raised her head when she heard the hum of a car engine. Before it crested the hill, she knew it was the Range Rover from the rumble. Quickly checking her phone for any missed calls, her stomach dropped over why Orrin or her father would be coming out here to find her. If they personally had to come, that meant something bad had happened. Because of the nature of their ranch, anyone could easily get hurt if they didn't take caution and suddenly she was scared that Olivia had been hurt. Maybe something had happened to Dave and they were coming to get her. A wave of nausea rolled her stomach and she quickly stood at the approach of the gray vehicle…but it was _Dave_ in the driver's seat and he was alone.

Orianne was at the door the second the Range Rover stopped. "Is everything okay?" she breathlessly asked.

"Not really," he replied through the open window as he slipped out of the car. "You're not home. So, no, everything is not okay."

"Dave Batista, you scared the hell out of me," she replied, holding a hand to her heart. "I thought something was wrong with Olivia or Dad and you come out here joking—wait, what _are _you doing out here?"

"I've come to talk you into coming back home."

"I'm coming back."

"When?" he asked, fixing her with a look that demanded an answer.

"Next weekend, maybe, or the one after that. I don't know," she replied, ignoring the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

"And that's why I'm here. What's going on, Ori?" With an exhausted sigh, she leaned up against the passenger door of the vehicle. He turned to face her and placed his palms against the windows at one either side of her shoulders. "Tell me what it is. We promised to trust each other and you're not trusting me with whatever is going on."

Those words stung and everything she had been thinking tumbled out. She finished with a shrug of her shoulders. "It'll all come together eventually."

"It'll all come together now," he replied, pulling her back against his chest and twining his fingers in hers. They both saw the lightning over the ridge but Dave wasn't going to lose this moment and continued, "I'll be honest with you. I hated having to step back so you could do what you had to do over the past three weeks. It was hard not bodyslamming anybody that believed you were still happily married." He could feel her back vibrate against his chest with her laugh. "But it doesn't change anything. So what that you got stuck legally as his wife? You're not now. It's unfortunate it ended that way but it did and we've got to move on. You know why I'm so possessive of you?"

"I hope it has something to do with loving me and not afraid I'll cheat on you."

Dave chuckled and then responded, "It's because I love you so much. I'm making up for all that lost time when I couldn't tell everybody that you were my girl and I'm so proud to be with you."

"Don't think for once that I don't feel the same way," she replied, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "I didn't stop everyone from calling me Sloan's widow not because I wasn't proud of you or because I didn't love you."

"I know that and I don't want to ever use that—'Sloan's widow'—between us again." He carefully turned her around towards the sideview mirror and pushed it out so that they could see themselves, the lightning still off in the distance. "You are more than that. That's a past life now. The woman that makes up Orianne Thomas is so much more. She's a rebel, a photographer, secretly loves music that would make her mother blush, doesn't care that she can't dance worth crap but does it anyhow." She couldn't help but giggle and raised a hand to stroke the dark stubble on his cheek. His voice then grew serious. "She's strong, independent, but craves intimacy. She's beautiful, smart, fiercely loyal. She's my lover and maybe one day my wife when she heals because she loves so hard that she's easily hurt. She loves the little things, like wanting to celebrate anniversaries with her boyfriend. Is that who you see?"

A smile spread out across her face. "With your help, I can," she replied and twisted in his embrace to face him, her arms around his neck. "God, I love you."

"I love you because you are who you are," he replied, brushing her lips with his. "Do you know what today is?"

"Uh-uh," she answered, shaking her head.

"It's our anniversary." She furrowed her brow in response and he continued. "A year ago today, we made love for the first time."

Her mind processed the statement and then she grinned. "That's true. We have to commemorate—" She suddenly stopped as fat raindrops began pelting them. "Help me get the saddle in the Rover," she asked, extracting herself from his arms and jogging to where the tack, a blanket, and saddle bags where spread across the ground. They darted back and forth between the car and the gear until it was all inside, barely damp.

"What about your horse?" he asked, the two of them standing under the open hatchback to stay dry.

"Athena couldn't care less," she replied as a thunderclap sounded and the horse only looked up as if she was annoyed.

"How do we get her back? Tie her to the car?"

Orianne couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, you can't do that. We can wait out the rain or I can ride her back now and get wet. Wouldn't be the first time."

"You were talking about commemorating the occasion," Dave mused. "You know how we have a thing about the rain."

"You're not suggesting…" she began as he pulled the blanket out of the vehicle. "You are so horny in public."

"We're not in public, baby," he replied with a suggestive grin and tugged her out into the downpour. The blanket was almost impossible to spread but he managed to get it down.

As he tugged at her wet t-shirt, she asked, "Do you want to know what I see?"

"I'm listening," he replied, his face nuzzled in between her breasts.

"I see a guy who wants people to think he's a rebel but is really a homebody…" she explained as she unbuttoned his shirt and punctuated each phrase with a kiss. "…he's a committed wrestler because he loves his job and his fans, he makes no bones about liking music with cusswords, he dances even though the only rhythm he has in the bedroom." Her words faltered for a moment as Dave undid her bra and palmed her now free breasts, his intense eyes never leaving her face. "He's devastatingly handsome with a grin that makes any woman throw her panties at him." He chuckled and she undid his belt buckle to slide it out of its loops. "He has so much passion it often gets him in trouble, he wants people to think he's independent and doesn't need intimacy, but inside he longs for it. He's my lover and because he is absolutely perfect, right down to remembering anniversaries…" She paused as he unzipped her jeans and began tugging the difficult, wet fabric down her legs. "…I think I wouldn't have a problem with him being my husband some time in the future when he too has healed and believes in himself." She was already pulling at his black dress pants as she stepped out of her jeans.

While Dave was intent on proving to her how much every word he said was true, she was doing the same. They submitted one to another; the foreplay almost as gratifying as their finally coming together. The electricity of the storm swirled around them, fueling their desire. He brought her to the brink over and over, only to pull back to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. She tried to take matters into her own hands but he would make her beg for him to fill her completely. With the thunder rumbling away in the distance, leaving a cleansed world in its wake, they found that intense physical completion of a spiritual yearning.

Satiated, the couple lay on the soaking wet blanket, the rain sliding off their hot bodies. They watched the lightning streak across the sky and let the mysterious wonder of thunderstorms pass over them while they talked about her coming back home.

"I know what I want to put in the frame," she announced, wiping a puddle of rain from his taut stomach from the light droplets that were falling from the clouds breaking up. "I think a mirror would be perfect."

"Why is that?" he asked as she propped herself up to look at him.

"So we can remind ourselves of who we are." She leaned down to kiss him and then straightened up, looking at the rays of sunlight starting to filter through. "The storm's over. Wanna go home?"

FINI!

**

* * *

Author's Notes: **Well, it's over. I hope you enjoyed. This is one of my least reviewed fics so I don't exactly know how well it went. 

Thank you to everyone who read and especially who reviewed: _WandaXmaximoff, shannygoat, our-goodbye, Randylover12, tanya2byour21, TheRealKellyAnne, New York Chica, dcstar408, IMissPadfoot, nic-002001, _and _X.x.XJodsterX.x.X_. (If I left anyone out, my apologies--just let me know.)

A special thanks to Clare (_WandaXmaximoff_, ID: 747588). Clare read both this fic and _Stillshot _before I posted them, giving me invaluable advice and much encouragement.

Speaking of _WandaXmaximoff_, she and I are in the process of a co-written fic that is almost complete. Look for it under her account or mine in the near future. It will feature both Cena and Batista.

Also, if you enjoyed Batista and Ori, you might like my _Blessed, Not Unlucky_, which features Dave as well. I am in the process of writing a sequel for it but I don't know how long it'll be before I post it. Clare wrote a fic that borrowed my OFC Cheryl from _Blessed _and it spurred me to write more of Dave and Cheryl. Btw, Clare's fic is _The Fine Line Between Love and Hate _(ID: 3099527). And she is also in the process of writing a sequel (_When Love and Hate Collide_) that my _Blessed _sequel will spin off from.

Anyhow, the co-written fic and the sequel to _Blessed _may be the last you see of me for a while. I'm too close to starting to study for my preliminary exams to become a Ph.D. candidate and there's not enough reviewer response to spend study time on writing more wrestling fics beyond these two. I know that sounds very negative and bitter but I promise it's not. I'm just not in a good place in life to have time to write much.

Thanks to everybody for getting this far! Love and kisses! (Bonus points for knowing where that came from.)


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